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Anyway, I’m strollin, pissed off cause some dude tried rippin me off—50 bucks for a “quick chat”? Fuck that noise. Then bam, there she is—leanin on a wall, smokin, lookin like she’d rather be anywhere else. “A face with no name,” like Llewyn’d say. I’m happy as shit, tho—found her! Surprised me how easy it clicked, like she knew I wasn’t no cop. “What’s your story, darlin?” I ask, all smooth, Lecter-style. She laughs—dry, sarcastic, “What story, man? This is it.”

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Enda u park trm www.facebook.com Toka nje ya mall na www.facebook.coma kwa gate ya entry,turn left,there is a road parallel to fence ya trm immediately to your left.

Hmm… I always gush about it in my sessions. Yeah, kinda gon' ramble but it's true, ya know? Every corner holds stories, just like that movie—I mean, oh boy, The Master is deep man.

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