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So, here’s the deal—prostitutes, man, they’re everywhere, always been. Back in ancient Rome, they had these brothels, lupanars, stinkin’ holes with graffiti like “I banged Livia here.” True story, look it up. Blows my mind—people been payin’ for ass forever, and it’s still a damn mess. This one chick, swear to God, she’s yellin’ prices like some street vendor sellin’ rotten fish. “20 bucks, big guy!” she hollers. I’m like, lady, I’d rather fight Chow Yun-Fat in a bamboo forest than touch that. “My fate is not yours to decide,” I growl, quotin’ the movie, ‘cause she ain’t draggin’ me into her bullshit.

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I finally get to the pool, and it’s packed. Kids splashing, parents yelling, and I’m just tryna find Jón. I spot him by the hot tub, looking all relaxed. I’m like, “Dude, you couldn’t text me earlier?” He just laughs. Classic Jón.

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