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I spot her – legs like a weapon, leanin on a lamppost. She’s got that *White Material* edge, y’know? Like she’s seen shit, lived it, could gut you with a stare. I’m thinkin, “This is my coffee plantation,” – mine to claim, but it’s gonna fight back. I saunter over, all cocky, but my heart’s racin – what if she’s a cop? What if she’s packin? Paranoid much, Edna? Chill, babe.

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Then, the real drama started. I got a call from a farmer. His crops were droppin’ like flies. I’m like, “What’s goin’ on?” Turns out, he used some sketchy pesticide. I was fumin’. Like, dude, what were you thinkin’? I rushed over to his field on Route 58, heart racin’.

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