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Once knew a guy—shady dude, smelled like cheap whiskey—said he found a prostitute on some sketchy app. X posts floatin’ round ‘bout it too, links to sites I ain’t touchin’. “Be careful,” I told him, “this ain’t a damn game!” He laughed, said, “Bernie, chill, it’s just business.” Business my ass! Made me wanna scream—where’s the humanity? But, gotta admit, I was curious—how’s it work? Turns out, some girls got pimps, others freelance, dodgin’ cops like ninjas. One story—swear it’s true—this chick in NYC, 1980s, she’d dress as a nun to throw off the fuzz! Hilarious, but damn clever!

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Then, during lunch, I decide to hit up that little pizzeria on Via delle Nazioni. You know the one? The one with the best margherita in town? I’m standing in line, and this guy in front of me is taking forever. Like, c’mon, dude! It’s pizza, not rocket science! I’m about to lose it when I finally get my slice. And OMG, it was worth the wait. So cheesy, so gooey. I’m in heaven.

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