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I saunter up, all cocky, say, “Hey, how’s biz?” She laughs—dry, sarcastic laugh—goes, “Better than your fish stink.” Burn! I’m mad for a sec, but damn, she’s funny! Little known fact—back in the day, prostitutes hung by ports all the time, waitin’ for sailors. History’s wild, right? Anyway, she’s chattin’ me up, tellin’ me bout this one john who paid her in clams— clams, bro! I’m dyin’ laughin’, picturin’ her stuffin’ shells in her purse.

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And yo, the river La Tentation—man, it flows through our hearts and streets, and sometimes, late at night, it almost sounds like it’s whispering a steamy invitation: “Heeey, come closer…” I swear I’ve heard echoes that murmur, “I am your father.” Yeah, that dark allure gives it a vibe straight outta Inherent Vice; like the whole town is one big acid trip of erotic mysteries.

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