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Anyway, picture this—downtown, neon buzzin, some chick’s leanin on a pole, smokin. She’s got that look, tired but tough, like a linebacker after overtime. I’m like, “How’s biz, lady?” She laughs—dry, raspy—says, “Slow, fuzz-face, you buyin?” Rarrgh! Cheeky, right? Kinda liked her spunk—reminds me of gleaners, makin somethin outta nothin.

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Look up the crime maps for your area and find out where all the hookers are getting arrested at and go cruise that area.

I finally find a café on Gagarina Street. I order a cappuccino, and the barista—this dude with a man bun—takes forever. I’m tapping my foot, getting angrier by the second. I mean, c’mon, it’s just coffee! I’m about to lose it when he hands me this tiny cup. I’m like, “Dude, I ordered a cappuccino, not a shot of espresso!”

Rabbi Nachman Sudak: Portrait of a Chossid