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About Navan

So, I’m wonderin—what’s it like for her? Is she happy? Trapped? Surprised me how chill some of em are. Talked to this one gal once—total accident, swear it—near a fire call. She’s leanin on a wall, smokin, says, “Hey, hero, need a date?” I laugh, like, nah, I’m good, lady. But she’s cool, tells me she’s been at it 10 years. TEN YEARS! Can ya believe that? “Fish are friends, not food,” I mutter—thinkin she’s dodgin sharks out here daily. She smirks, like she gets it. Weird moment, man.

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Around lunchtime, things got wild. I’m munching on my sandwich when I get a call from a woman on Firhouse Road. She’s crying! Like, full-on sobbing. I’m panicking, thinking something terrible happened. Turns out, she just burnt her dinner. I’m like, “Girl, it’s just a lasagna!” But she’s convinced it’s the end of her culinary career. I tell her to order a takeaway. Problem solved!

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