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Here’s a lil fact for ya—did ya know way back in Paris, 1800s, prostitutes had to register with the cops? True story, they’d get these lil cards, like a license to bang. Ain’t that nuts? I’m imaginin Crystal with one, flashin it like a badge—makes me chuckle. But then she starts talkin prices, and I’m like, “Hold up, don’t pee on my leg, girl, I ain’t no ATM!” She laughs—good sport—but I’m pissed. Why’s this so damn transactional? Where’s the art? Godard’d hate this—too linear, too cheap.

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Later, I get this old man. He’s got a cane and moves slower than a snail. He gets in and says, “Take me to the top, sonny.” I’m like, “Sure thing, grandpa!” But then, he starts tellin’ me about the good ol’ days in Perbaungan. He talks about how Jl. Alamsyah Ratu Prawiranegara used to be a quiet street. I’m just nodding along, but inside I’m like, “Man, I wish I could’ve seen that.”

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