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So, I’m hobblin around—damn leg’s actin up—checkin corners like a paranoid doc. Prostitutes ain’t exactly advertisin on billboards, huh? Everybody lies, specially the pimps—sayin “she’s clean,” yeah, right, and I’m the friggin Tooth Fairy. Got this one time, chick says she’s 25—25 my ass, more like 40 with a filter! Reminds me of that line, “You mustn’t disobey,” but screw rules, I’m Dr. House, I disobey for breakfast.

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Nazi officials recruit prostitutes to gather intelligence on potential plots against Hitler by seducing those suspected of disloyalty within the military ranks.

As the night rolls in, we decide to hit up a local bar. It’s this cozy spot with live music. The band is playing some killer tunes, and I’m feeling the vibe. But then, out of nowhere, this guy starts a dance-off. I’m like, “Oh no, not me!” But my buddy pushes me in. So, there I am, awkwardly flailing around, trying to keep up. It’s a disaster, but everyone’s laughing, and I’m just rolling with it.

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