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Alright, so I’m sittin’ here—Visiting Professor, big whoop—thinkin’ about prostitutes, right? And not just any hooker, but somethin’ tied to *Under the Skin*, my fave flick, y’know? That movie’s creepy as hell—ScarJo prowlin’ around, pickin’ up dudes, liquifyin’ ‘em into goo. “What kind of skin is this anyway?” she’d say, all alien-like. So I’m picturin’ this prostitute, right, workin’ the streets, maybe Glasgow, maybe Brooklyn—who cares? Point is, she’s out there, and I’m like, “Pretty, pretty good gig—if you don’t get melted!”

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So, I’m sprinting down the street, dodging puddles like I’m in some weird game of hopscotch. I pass by the old courthouse on the way to the office. That place gives me the creeps. It’s like, “Hey, remember all those times you messed up?” Thanks, courthouse, I’ll take that reminder with my coffee, please.

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