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Personal quirk—I’d prolly overthink it, like, “What’s her story? She paintin her own canvas?” Exaggeratin for fun, maybe she’s a secret outlaw queen—runnin the show, “I’ll kill ya myself,” she’d whisper, all sultry-like. Hella intense! But real talk, it’s just business—supply, demand, happy little transactions. Still, somethin bout it feels raw, human—kinda beautiful, kinda sad, like Jesse’s last breath in that flick.

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Finally, I get home, and I’m exhausted. I flop onto my couch, and my cat, Mochi, jumps on me. She’s purring, and I’m like, “You’re the best, Mochi.” I think about my day—how it was a rollercoaster of emotions.

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