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So, picture this—I’m cruisin’ downtown, late night, neon lights flashin’. Kinda like Silicon Valley, but dirtier. I’m wonderin’, how’s this even work? You don’t just Google “prostitute near me,” right? Or do ya? Ha! Maybe there’s an app now—swipe right for a good time. Nah, I’m kiddin’, but am I? Anyway, I see this gal—heels high, skirt short—standin’ by a lamppost. Classic, right? Like a scene from some gritty ’80s movie. I’m thinkin’, “Is this for real?” She’s got that look—tough, tired, but sharp. Reminds me of Eduardo in the movie, y’know? “I was your only friend.” Bet she’s got stories—clients stiffin’ her, cops hasslin’ her. Made me mad, thinkin’ about it—people treatin’ her like trash. She’s out here grindin’, same as anybody.

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But then, as I’m munching, I see this dude on a motorbike. He zooms by, and I swear he almost hit a cat! I’m like, “Bro, chill! It’s not a racetrack!” The cat just stared at him like, “Really, dude?” I laughed so hard, I almost choked on my nasi.

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