india sucks

I am basically a supervillain, no? I have been sneaking around India without permission for \[# of years\] years—like a ninja, but with less talent and more sweat. I am like a ghost, but not the cool kind. Just the broke kind who forgot to pay for a visa. I know, I know, I’m not supposed to be here. But can you blame me? India is amazing! The food? Oh, so good I cry into my plate. The people? So friendly, they smile even when I owe them money. The traffic? A beautiful chaos—like a Bollywood movie, but with more honking and zero choreography. I love it here, okay? Sue me! Oh wait, you might. My English? Terrible. I talk like a toddler who fell off a tricycle. But I am a big man! Big dreams, small brain, no papers. Perfect combination, right? I have learned so much in India—like how to argue with aunties in the market until they give me tomatoes for free. I’m basically a professor of bargaining now. Call me Dr. Cheap. Listen, I know I’m illegal, but I’m not that bad. I’m not stealing your gold or your cows. I just want a nice life—spicy food, loud music, maybe a nap. Is that really a crime? (Don’t answer that, I know it is.)