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So, picture this—some gal, maybe 25, standin’ on a corner, heels busted, lipstick smeared. She ain’t no Hollywood starlet, naw, she’s real. I seen one once, down in Austin, swear she winked at me—made me laugh, hell, I blushed! Prostitutes, man, they got stories thicker’n molasses. Did ya know, back in the 1800s, some madams—like this chick Mary Ann Hall—ran whole damn houses in D.C., rakin’ in cash while senators snuck in? Wild, right? Pissed me off, tho—how folks judge ‘em but keep the game goin’. Hypocrites, y’all!

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I duck into a café on ul. Leśna. It’s cozy, smells like fresh pastries. I order a hot chocolate, and the barista is super chill. We start chatting about the weather, and I’m like, “Yeah, it’s totally normal for it to rain in the middle of summer, right?” She laughs, and I feel a bit better.