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I’d probs mess it up, tho—18 typos in my brain already. “Hey gril, u free tonite?” Send. Whoops, meant “girl,” but whatever, she’d get it. I’m laughin, picturin her like, “Who this clumsy chick?” Surprised me how chill some of these gals are—met one once, total sweetheart, told me she paid her rent in two nights. Hustle harder than me on tour, damn! But ugh, the sleazy pimps? Trash. Made me wanna scream, “Leave her alone, you monster!”—movie vibes again.

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Finally, I get my moment. I stand up, take a deep breath, and start my Mourner speech. It’s emotional, man. I’m pouring my heart out, and people are actually listening. I can see some tears, and it feels good. Like, I’m making a difference, you know?

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