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Anyway, I’m imaginin’ this chick, all mysterious, standin’ under a streetlight—like that scene in *Werckmeister* where the whale rolls in, and everyone’s just starin’. “What is this creature?” I’m mutterin’ to myself, half-excited, half-freaked. Do I wave? Say hi? Toss cash like a gangster? I’m overthinkin’ it, obvi—my brain’s a mess, like, “Tina, chill, it’s not a date!” But I’m hyped too—somethin’ about the grit, the realness, gets me goin’. Prostitution’s old as dirt—did ya know ancient Rome had “lupanars”? Brothels with freaky murals—talk about decor goals!

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Man, as a dating site dev, I see people from all walks of life. I’ve met passion, broken hearts and everything in between under the neon glow of Chicopee nights. It’s messy, it’s raw. I get hyped seeing couples hit it off on patios of little joints on Memorial Ave, or sipping cheap beers on stoops in North End. Crazy times, bro.

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