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You could hit the web, sure. X’s got posts—shady dudes droppin’ hints, “DM for fun.” But it’s a crapshoot, half’s fake, half’s cops. Makes me wanna smash my phone. Or there’s the old-school way—cruise the strip, spot the lingerers. They’re out there, leanin’ on poles, smokin’ like they own the night. Reminds me of that line, “This is the girl.” Yeah, which one, genius? They all got that lost look, like Betty in the movie—fake smiles, dead eyes. Hate that crap, makes my skin crawl.

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Finally, I pull up, and it’s this cute little spot called Café Nagy. Super cozy, but the owner? Total character. He’s like, “You’re late!” I’m like, “Dude, I’m not a magician!” Anyway, I set up my gear, and just as I’m about to connect the last wire, the power goes out. Classic, right? I’m standing there, looking like a total fool with my tools in hand.