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Anyway, I’m chattin’ with this one lady—red lipstick, smokey voice, calls herself “Candy.” I’m laughin’, thinkin’, “Is this chick for real?” She’s quotin’ prices like she’s sellin’ me a used Chevy. “Fifty bucks, Joe, and I’ll rock yer world!” I’m like, c’mon, man, I ain’t that green! Made me mad, tho—folks tryna hustle ya, takin’ advantage. But then she winks, and I’m crackin’ up—girl’s got charm, gotta give her that. “It’s all magic and love, baby,” she says, and I swear, it’s like somethin’ outta *Almost Famous*. I’m half expectin’ her to pull out a guitar and sing “Fever Dog.”

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So, I grab my coffee, and I’m feeling good. But then, boom! I get a call from a client. They’re in crisis mode. Like, seriously? Can’t a counselor catch a break? I rush over to their place on Via Verdi. It’s a cute little apartment, but the vibe is all off. I walk in, and it’s like a tornado hit. Papers everywhere, and they’re just sitting there, looking lost.

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