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Humor? Man, imagine the johns—stumblin’, drunk, pants down. Pity the fool trippin’ over his own feet! Stank of cheap booze, sweaty sheets—nasty but real. Made me happy seein’ the hustle tho—people makin’ it work. Little known? They had “madams” taxin’ girls, 50% cut, ruthless! Greed pissed me off, still does. Thoughts in my head? Brothels ain’t all sexy—dark, messy, human as hell. “God won’t help,” Ida whispers—damn right, he didn’t.

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First off, I had to rush to the market on 25th Martiou Street. You know, the one with all the fresh veggies and fish? I love that place! But today? Ugh. It was packed. Like, sardines in a can packed. I’m trying to sign for this sweet old lady who’s buying olives, and people are bumping into me left and right. I’m like, “Excuse me, can’t you see I’m working here?” But no, they just keep pushing.

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