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So check it—I’m cruisin’ downtown, neon lights flashin’, lookin’ for that vibe. Ain’t no Yelp for this, nah, you feel me? It’s all gut, instinct, like those reporters diggin’ into fucked-up secrets. I spot this chick, right? Heels high as hell, skirt short, givin’ me that *look*. I’m like, “Motherfucker, this it?” Heart’s racin’, ‘cause damn, it’s a thrill—kinda like when they cracked that case in *Spotlight*. “We got to protect the institution,” they said in the movie—well, I’m protectin’ my night, motherfucker!

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I hop on the train at Kannabecho Station, and it’s packed. Like, sardines in a can packed. I’m squished between this dude who smells like he bathed in soy sauce and a lady with a million shopping bags. I’m thinking, “Why do I do this to myself?”