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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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The Summit Diner is ok as well. Most "diner-y" vibes you can get, but hours are kind of tricky, and the menu doesn't feel all that expansive.

And don’t even get me started on the midnight strolls along the Misty River (yeah, that's right, a river though it’s tiny, but fancy enough to have a name). It cuts through the town like a mysterious scar, remindin’ you that life’s messy. “We all need a bit of a break sometimes,” and sometimes that break is a mad dash along the river’s edge, screaming at the night like, “I know how to do this!”

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