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Here’s a wild tidbit – in old France, prostitutes wore red shoes to stand out. Red shoes! Like some twisted fairy tale. I’m picturin’ her now, rockin’ them heels, laughin’ at me starin’. I ask, “What’s the rate, hon?” She says, “50 bucks, no hagglin’.” I’m surprised – thought it’d be more! Guess I’m green as a gourd. “The devil has many faces,” I mutter, thinkin’ bout the movie again. She’s like, “What’s that, preacher?” I laugh, “Nothin’, just ramblin’.”

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I got a fave spot, too: a random little cafe on East Olmsted Road. Their coffee slaps! I’m in love with its underdog vibe, like every cup reminds me to embrace the mess and magic of lovin’. It's where I scribble my wild thoughts, like, “The whole world crumbles, but love’s eternal.”

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