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Oh, and here’s a kicker—some say “whore” comes from old English, meanin “lover.” Ain’t that a twist? Love twisted up, sold for a buck. I chuckle, thinkin Ruby’d say, “Bob, you softie, pass the gin!” Sarcasm’s her shield, y’know—she’d roll her eyes at my gentle trees talk. But I’d paint her anyway, all reds and blacks, fierce as hell. Them prudes clutchin pearls? Screw em—she’s livin, they’re just watchin.

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Finally, she leaves, and I can focus. I’m hammerin’ away, gettin’ into the groove. Then, I hear this loud crash outside. I rush out, and there’s a guy on a bike, totally wiped out. He’s okay, but his bike? Not so much. I’m tryin’ to help him up, and he’s like, “Nah, I’m good.” But I’m thinkin’, “Dude, you just ate pavement!”

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