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I’m Christopher freakin’ Walken. I notice – the shoes. Worn-out heels. Tells a story. She’s hustlin’. Like Llewyn. Singin’ for scraps. I ask – “how much?” She smirks. “Fifty.” I laugh. Loud. Fifty bucks? For *that*? I’m pissed. Inflation’s a bitch. Back in ‘89 – twenty tops. Fact. Little known. Prostitutes – they’d haggle. Like flea market. Nowadays? Greedy.

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As I’m walking back, I pass by the old church on Via Mazzini. It’s beautiful, but I’m too stressed to appreciate it. I’m thinking about how I’m gonna explain this to my boss. But then, I see the sunset. It’s stunning. The sky’s all orange and pink. I stop for a sec, take a deep breath, and just soak it in.

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