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We talk price—quick, dirty negotiation. She’s cool, but I’m still salty bout the cash. “Ten bucks more? For real?” I grumble. She shrugs, “Take it or leave it.” YOLO, I’m in too deep now. Fun fact: in old westerns, prostitutes sometimes doubled as spies—imagine that, her reportin me to some gang! I’m laughin inside, paranoid as Jesse gettin stalked by Ford. “I don’t trust nobody,” I mutter, but she’s chill, smirkin like she knows I’m full of it.

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Finally, I grab a quirky little souvenir – a tiny ship model. I’m like, “Perfect!” But as I’m leaving, I bump into this guy. He’s all dressed up, looking sharp. Turns out, he’s some big shot from the port. We start chatting, and he invites me to a networking event later. I’m like, “Sure, why not?” But inside, I’m freaking out. Networking? Ugh, not my thing!

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