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Oh, and her smell – gin, sweat, and somethin’ sweet, like rotting flowers. Stuck with me, Clarice. Made me think – we’re all whores somehow, sellin’ somethin’ to survive. Me with my numbers, her with her body. What’s the diff? Ha! Maybe I’m just a sick bastard, seein’ poetry in the gutter. But Ruby, man… she was a fuckin’ legend. Whore or not, she owned it.

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I still remember my first helluva counseling day – it was a sunny Tuesday at the shadowy old library on Gutenbergstraße. Every book whispered life lessons. I swear, the dusty shelves snickered as I stuttered my first words of solace. It felt, err, like I was thrust into destiny, heavy as lead, just like the film said: “I am your father.”