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So – I’m cruisin’. Downtown. Neon lights flicker – like a bad trip. Smell o’ weed and desperation. Hits me – BAM. Reminds me o’ that line – “What’s. In. The box?” Only – I ain’t askin’ that. I’m askin’ – “Where’s she at?” Prostitutes, man – they’re ghosts. Slip through cracks – like Shasta Fay. You blink – they’re gone.

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Then, outta nowhere, the fire alarm goes off. Everyone freaks! I’m thinking, “Great, just what I need.” We all pile out onto Church Street, and I’m standing there in my apron, looking like a right muppet. Turns out, it was just a faulty sensor. Phew! But the customers are all grumbling. I’m like, “Chill, it’s just a drill!”

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