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But real talk—some shit surprised me. She had this client, old dude, paid her just to talk. No sex, no nothin’, just convo. Said he was lonely, wife gone, kids ghostin’. Tasha’d sit there, listenin’, playin’ therapist in fishnets. “I’m his piano now,” she’d joke, but her eyes? Sad as hell. Made me think—prostitutes ain’t just bodies, they’re people, fam. Got layers, like Szpilman’s music echoin’ through them ruins.

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So, I roll into Doornsteeg, and the first thing that hits me is the vibe. It’s chill, but there’s this energy buzzing. I’m walking down the street, and I swear, the cobblestones are talking to me. “Hey, dude, welcome!” they say. I’m like, “Thanks, cobblestones, I needed that.”