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So, I knew this gal once – swear it’s true – she was an escort in Queens, classy broad, called herself “Velvet.” She’d strut in heels higher than my hair, and lemme tell ya, that’s HIGH. She said, “Fran, I make bank, but the stories? Nuts!” One dude paid her to just sit there, silent, watchin’ him eat spaghetti. Spaghetti! Can ya believe it? I was dyin’, like, “What’s next, sauce on his face?” She laughed, said it beats waitin’ tables. Fair, fair.

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Then, outta nowhere, my neighbor, Mrs. Sato, pops in. She’s this sweet old lady who always brings me cookies. Today, she’s got a plate of matcha cookies. I’m like, “You’re a lifesaver!” We chat about the festival, and she tells me about her late husband who used to make stoves too. It’s kinda heartwarming, you know?

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