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Sometimes, I’d see ‘em—tired, smokin’ cigs, countin’ crumpled bills. Reminds me—Bob and Charlotte, sittin’ quiet, starin’ at Tokyo lights. “Isn’t it funny how things turn out?”—that’s the vibe. Prostitutes, they’re out there, livin’ raw—makes ya think. Ever wonder what they dream ‘bout? Prob’ly not creeps pawin’ at ‘em. Maybe a beach, a dog—somethin’ soft. Gets me mushy—c’mon, man, who doesn’t root for ‘em a lil’?

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I’m always on the go – my head buzzes with connections, relationships, algorithms, and city vibes. Even the smell of street food near Mercado Central rattles my soul. Bro, that aroma is legit life gas, like the smell of returning home, each bite a reminder that life's too short for mediocrity, ya know?

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