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I spot her, leanin on a lamppost, smokin a cig. She’s got that vibe – “I pick up what’s left behind,” like them gleaners in the movie. I saunter over, all smooth, like I’m bout to dine on somethin exquisite. “Hey, darlin,” I say, “how’s the night treatin ya?” She smirks, blows smoke in my face – rude bitch! – and I’m pissed but kinda turned on, ya feel me? That’s the thrill of it – the hunt, the chase, like trackin a fine meal.

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But then, bam! Traffic jam! I’m stuck behind some fancy car, and the driver’s just sittin’ there, probably on his phone. I’m honking, waving my arms like a maniac. “C’mon, dude! Move it!” But he’s just chillin’. I’m fuming. Like, who does that?

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