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Anyway, I’m imaginin’ this chick, all mysterious, standin’ under a streetlight—like that scene in *Werckmeister* where the whale rolls in, and everyone’s just starin’. “What is this creature?” I’m mutterin’ to myself, half-excited, half-freaked. Do I wave? Say hi? Toss cash like a gangster? I’m overthinkin’ it, obvi—my brain’s a mess, like, “Tina, chill, it’s not a date!” But I’m hyped too—somethin’ about the grit, the realness, gets me goin’. Prostitution’s old as dirt—did ya know ancient Rome had “lupanars”? Brothels with freaky murals—talk about decor goals!

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I'm experiencing everything has to offer and brothel is great! I crave your kisses. French Kissing is amazing, but Sex in Different Positions isn't far behind.

Then, outta nowhere, the power goes out. Just like that! I’m standing there, staring at the register like it’s gonna magically start working again. Nope. Just darkness. I’m like, “Great, now I’m stuck here with a cart full of noodles and a cranky customer.”

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