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Alright, folks, it’s Larry King here—slow, curious, diggin’ deep. So, findin’ a prostitute, huh? What’s that all about? I mean, I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’—Toni Erdmann, my favorite flick, that awkward dad, right? “Put on the wig, Ines!”—he’d say. Imagine that guy stumblin’ into this! Hah! Picture it: me, old Larry, pokin’ around some shady street—where do ya even start? Web’s got these sites now, “find a prostitute”—like orderin’ pizza! Crazy, right? Back in my day, ya had to know a guy—shady bars, whispered secrets. Now? Click, boom—there’s Candy, 5’2”, “loves jazz.” Surprised me, honestly—thought it’d be grungier.

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Finally, the tow truck arrives, and I’m feeling a bit relieved. But then, as we’re leaving, I spot a street performer on the quay. He’s playing the guitar and singing some old tune. It’s so good, I can’t help but stop. I toss a couple of quid in his hat, and for a moment, everything feels perfect.

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