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About Mons

Oh, and the johns? Scum. Weak. Greedy for pussy, not power—pathetic. One guy cried when we nabbed him. Cried! Made me wanna puke. Mia’d eat him alive, tho—she’s got that *Fish Tank* edge. “This is my time,” she’d say, struttin’ past me. Ha! Time for what, darlin’? Another nickel in the clink?

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Man, I gotta say, my profession’s given me eyes in the back of my head. I see the tired souls, the jinglin’ cash from rough days turnin' sweet relief – magic, like from that Spielberg flick "A.I. Artificial Intelligence." When I massage ya, it’s like I'm whisperin’ “I’m not a robot, I feel!” (Yeah, I know it's not the exact line, but you get me, right?) Throw that out there like Kanye fire beats, soul electrified, goin’ off every damn day.

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