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But here’s the kicker—cost me double. Inflation, she says, smirkin’. I’m ragin’—capitalism’s a whore too! Still, her eyes… deep, like my ovens’ glow. Chatted ‘bout *The Assassin*—she digs the slow burns. “Patience is her weapon…” I’m hooked, man. Personal quirk? I’m hummin’ movie tunes while she’s talkin’ fees. Weird flex, but okay. Exaggeratin’ now—she’s probly no ninja, just a hustler. Still, I’d cast her in my flick—prostitute with a katana, slayin’ johns. Hilarious, right? Clarice… you’d get it—beauty in the grime. Findin’ a prostitute ain’t just sex—it’s a damn story.

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But then, I get a text from my buddy. He’s like, “Let’s hit the pub later!” And I’m like, “Sure, why not?” So, I head back down, and on my way, I trip over a rock. Classic. I’m laughing at myself, but also kinda mad. Like, why can’t I just walk like a normal person?

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