Yugo Joe leaned back, watching the drizzle fall against East Vancouver’s sidewalks, and turned to Madonna with a grin.
“Back in the 1970s,” he said, “families used to dream of a vacation home. A little seasonal place. Not extravagant, just somewhere to get away. I think everyone deserves that. A place of rest.”
Madonna raised an eyebrow. “And where exactly are you thinking, Joe? The Hamptons?”
Joe shook his head firmly. “Nope. I don’t want to go anywhere. You’re Canadian like me. We could build something right here in East Van. A beautiful neighborhood where friends gather, where no one’s chasing glamour—just peace.”
He gestured down the block. “Look over there. Tom Cruise could have a seasonal home right in the middle of the street. Imagine him jogging past the corner café, still doing his own stunts.”
Madonna laughed. “And who else are you moving in?”
Joe’s eyes sparkled. “Arnold Schwarzenegger. There’s a Lutheran Church on the corner that would be perfect for him. Strong, solid, historic—just like him. Imagine Arnie walking out on Sunday, shaking hands with the neighbors, maybe grilling sausages in the backyard.”
He paused, picturing it all. “East Vancouver deserves that kind of magic. Not the fake Hollywood kind—just good people, good neighbors, seasonal homes, and a community where even action heroes get to rest.”
Madonna tilted her head, smiling softly. “You know, Joe… you make it sound like heaven with streetlights.”