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Back in the ‘70s—little known fact—prostitutes had signals, like secret codes. Flashin’ a cig, twirlin’ hair, standin’ by some busted lamp post. Now? Man, it’s apps, it’s whispers, it’s dodgy-ass vibes. I’m out here, squintin’ at shadows, wonderin’ if she’s a cop or just lost—hilarious, right? Me, Morgan goddamn Freeman, playin’ detective for a quick thrill. “What’s your proof?”—that line from the movie pops in my head. Proof? Hell, I ain’t got none, just a hunch and a wad of cash.

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Finally, I head home, and I’m just exhausted. I plop down on my couch, and my cat, Mochi, jumps on my lap. She’s purring, and I’m like, “You get it, Mochi. Today was wild.” I pull out my phone to check the weather for tomorrow, and guess what? More rain. Ugh.

Figure 3. Proposed conceptual model. Placenta: miRNAs can work in a...