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What suprised me? The heart, man—she’s got one. Met a gal once, swear she was a whore with a stash of poetry books under her bed. Said she’d recite ‘em to johns who paid extra. “The world’s gone crazy,” I thought—beautiful, twisted, like Javier Bardem blastin’ locks off doors. Ruby’d do that too—blast through bullshit, I bet. I’m ramblin’ now, huh? Good—keeps it real. Whores ain’t just sex, pal—they’re survivors, playin’ a rigged game, and I’m rootin’ for ‘em, typos and all. What’s your take, huh? Curious minds wanna know!

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I remember one day, after a hectic session with a super stressed client, I wandered near Klinkstraat. Whoop! I bumped into the local florist— srsly, her blooms were so rad they shouted “beauty!” like, for real, I was in awe. It was a small moment, like a gentle pat on the back, reminding me that every little part counts.

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