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Still, Ruby had grit. Once saw her haggle a dude up fifty bucks, laughin’ like a hyena. Happy moment, rare as a unicorn. Hate admittin’ it, but I admired her. Not enough to join her trade—screw that, I’d rather eat kale. “Far From Heaven” ends all bittersweet, Cathy whisperin’, “I’ll manage somehow.” Ruby’s the same—beat down, but kickin’. Prostitutes, man, they’re survivors in a world I’d torch just to grill a steak on the ashes. Hate everything, but them? Tolerable. Barely.

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So, I finally get to the office, and my boss, Oleg, is already on my case. “Where’s the report?” he barks. Dude, chill! I’m an accountant, not a magician. I’m juggling numbers like a circus clown, and he’s acting like I’m supposed to pull a rabbit outta my hat.