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About Florence

I’m picturin’ it – me, drivin’ round, lookin’ for some action. Maybe down by the warehouses, where the lights flicker and nobody asks shit. Dr. Evil vibes – pinky up, “One million dollars.” – like I’m buyin’ the whole damn block. But real talk, it ain’t that fancy. Prolly just some chick named Tammy, smokin’ a cig, leanin’ on a streetlight. “What’s your story, hon?” I’d ask, all smooth, but inside I’m like, “This is nuts, what am I doin’?”

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But then, the day takes a turn. We’re headin’ back, and I realize I left my shears at the farm. I’m like, “No way! I can’t go back without them!” So, we race back, and I’m stressin’. I’m thinkin’ about all the sheep I’ll have to shear without my trusty shears.

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