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Maniacal grin, “Here’s Johnny!” I’m thinkin’, what’s the draw? Some dude, lonely as hell, swipes right for company. Reminds me of Benigno in the movie, carin’ for Alicia, silent and still. “The best thing is to talk to her,” he’d say, but these johns? They ain’t talkin’. They’re payin’ for silence, or moans, or whatever. Surprised me, first time I dug into it—how damn organized it is. Brothels in Nevada, legal and all, got schedules tighter than my lab’s. Girls clock in, clock out, like it’s fuckin’ Walmart.

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So, I head out to the local café on de Doornakkerslaan to grab a coffee. I need caffeine. Like, stat. I order my usual, a double espresso, and the barista, Lisa, gives me this huge smile. She’s the best. I’m like, “Thanks, Lisa! You’re the real MVP.” She laughs, and for a sec, I forget about the budget drama.

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