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Angry? Hell yea—system’s rigged, man! Girls stuck, pimps beatin’ em, johns not givin’ a shit. Happy? Not really—maybe when I heard bout this one chick in Amsterdam. Legal gig, unionized, rakin’ in cash—$300 an hour! Surprised me, legit hustle, no fear. “Death isn’t the problem,” film says—nah, livin’ like that is. Yoda’d say, “Dark side, it pulls.” Prostitutes tho, they’re just dodgin’ it.

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So, I finally make it to the fields. It’s time to do my thing. I’m out there, harvestin’ away, and it feels good. The smell of fresh crops, the sound of the engine—pure bliss. But then, I notice something weird. There’s this old lady, Nonna Maria, just starin’ at me from her balcony on Via Giuseppe Mazzini. She’s got this look like I’m some kinda alien. I wave, and she just shakes her head. Like, c’mon, Nonna! I’m just tryin’ to make a livin’ here!

Acta Paediatrica | Paediatrics Journal