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So, I’m wonderin—what’s it like for her? Is she happy? Trapped? Surprised me how chill some of em are. Talked to this one gal once—total accident, swear it—near a fire call. She’s leanin on a wall, smokin, says, “Hey, hero, need a date?” I laugh, like, nah, I’m good, lady. But she’s cool, tells me she’s been at it 10 years. TEN YEARS! Can ya believe that? “Fish are friends, not food,” I mutter—thinkin she’s dodgin sharks out here daily. She smirks, like she gets it. Weird moment, man.

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When Cara Ryan shoots her ex-husband and accuses him of threatening to kill her, police question her motive.

I’m trying to make sense of it all. I’m flipping through charts, and my phone rings again. It’s my boss. “We need to talk,” he says. Oh great, just what I need. I’m thinking, “Is this the end of my career?”

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