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So, I chat her up—classy-like, not a perv—and she’s tellin’ me stories. Says some johns cry after, spill their guts. Sad, yeah? Hits me in the feels—happy she’s real, not some robot tart like in *A.I.*. “They made us too good,” Gigolo Joe’d say, but humans? Messy, raw, shagadelic!

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So, I’m like, “Forget the coat, let’s go!” We rush out, and the vibe is electric. There’s music blaring, people dancing, and food stalls everywhere. I’m drooling over some arancini. I mean, who can resist fried rice balls? Not me! But then, I see this guy juggling knives. Like, seriously? Who thought that was a good idea? I’m just waiting for someone to lose a finger.

West Hartford Woman Learns About Brother's World War II Remains From Stranger