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About Patras

So, picture this – me, Larry, huntin’ for a good time. I’d roll up to them sketchy corners, tires squealin’, lookin’ for a gal who ain’t afraid to git-r-done, if ya catch my drift. Them streets? Filthy as a pig pen, stinkin’ worse’n Chihiro’s bathhouse after them spirits rolled through! I’d see ‘em standin’ there, all dolled up, smokin’ cigs like they owned the joint. Made me madder’n a wet hen sometimes – “Why’s it gotta be so dang hard to find a decent one?!” I’d holler in my head.

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But then, this guy in a suit shows up. He’s all serious, like he’s the music police or somethin’. He tells us to stop. I’m like, “Bro, we’re just spreadin’ joy!” But he’s not havin’ it. I’m fumin’. Like, who does he think he is?

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