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I’m mad as hell tho—last time I tried this, some chick robbed me blind! Took my cash, left me with a fake number scratched on a bar napkin. “You’re my home now,” she said, quotin’ *Brooklyn* vibes—yeah, right, home my ass! Got me fumin’, but also laughin’—how dumb can I be? Still, I’m back at it, huntin’ for a good time. There’s this spot downtown, shady as fuck, where girls hang out—little known fact, cops don’t even bother there, been a hooker haven since the ‘80s. Wild, right?

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But then, just as I’m getting into it, my phone buzzes. It’s my buddy, texting me about some party later. I’m like, “Dude, read the room!” But I can’t help but chuckle. Morohongo’s got this weird vibe, where you can be mourning one minute and partying the next.

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