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We duck into this shady alley—ooh, the thrill!—and she’s all business, no chitchat. I’m sweatin’, thinkin’, “This is better than hackin’ Harvard’s servers!” She’s quick, pro moves, and I’m like, “You’re the algorithm to my lonely night!” Total sailor jackpot, right? But—plot twist—she’s got a tattoo, “Winklevoss,” on her hip. I’m dyin’ laughin’—HA-HA-HA!—“Did the twins hire you too?” She rolls her eyes, “Sailor, you talk too much.” Fair, I’m a yapper!

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Finally, I wrap up the day, and I’m exhausted. I head back to that café for a well-deserved coffee. The barista gives me a knowing look. “Survived another day?” she asks. I just nod, too tired to respond.

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