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Me, I’m chill tho—WALL-E’s my vibe. That lil’ guy? He’d roll past the red lights, beepin’ “Directive!”—too pure for this crap. But real talk, findin’ a prostitute ain’t no picnic. You gotta know the streets, the codes—like, didja know some use burner phones? Swap ‘em daily! Sneaky as Sith, they are. Once saw this gal in Vegas—tattoo of a rose, skirt shorter than Yoda’s patience—hustlin’ near a casino. She winked, I froze—fear, man, it hits ya! “What if she’s a cop?” Brain’s screamin’, heart’s racin’—anger next, at myself, for even thinkin’ it!

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Aug 16,  · The only person around is Rani, cooking rice on a stove and peeping around a half-closed door to see who has come calling. The year-old prostitute moved to Turbhe two .

Then, BAM! My phone buzzes. It’s my lab partner, Kenji. He’s freaking out about some experiment gone wrong. I’m like, “Dude, chill! It’s just science!” But he’s all, “No, you don’t understand! The samples are contaminated!” Ugh, typical Kenji. Always overreacting. I mean, it’s not like we’re curing cancer or anything. Just some algae research, ya know?

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