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So, I’m chattin’ her up, right? She’s tellin’ me ‘bout this john who stiffed her—haha, “stiffed,” get it? Total loser move. Said he drove a beat-up Chevy, smelled like cheese. Cheese! Who does that? Made me happy tho—she cracked up, forgot her shitty night for a sec. Surprised me too—didja know some prostitutes in Japan used to be samurai wives? Wild, right? History’s nuts. Anyway, I’m like, “Stay cool, lady,” and bounced. “The future is ours!”—movie line stuck in my head. Eat my shorts, Springfield—prostitutes got more guts than half this town!

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First off, I hit up Rua da Ladeira for some coffee. You know, the good stuff. I’m standing there, waiting for my bica, and this guy in front of me spills his drink all over the counter. Like, dude, how do you even manage that? I’m just trying to get my caffeine fix, and now I’m dodging coffee like it’s a game of dodgeball.

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