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So, you’re out there, lookin’. Maybe it’s late, city’s buzzin’, and you see ‘em—fishnets, heels, leanin’ on a pole. Reminds me of Marion in that movie, y’know? “I’m gonna be somebody!”—but it’s all grit, all desperation. You don’t just stroll up like, “Hey, how’s it goin’?” Nah, there’s a code, a vibe. I read once—get this—back in the ‘90s, Times Square was crawlin’ with ‘em before Giuliani swept it clean. Little factoid for ya! Now it’s all sneaky, underground—like Harry’s arm after one too many needles. Gross, right? Made me gag thinkin’ about it.

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So, I chase him down the alley behind the station. I’m not exactly in shape, but adrenaline’s pumping. I’m dodging trash cans and trying not to trip over my own feet. Finally, I catch up to him near the riverbank. I’m outta breath, but I manage to grab him. “You’re not going anywhere, buddy!”

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