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So, I spot her—legs long, eyes sharp, leanin’ on a wall like she owns it. Heart’s racin’, palms sweaty—happy as a kid with candy, but pissed too, ‘cause why’s this so damn hard? Walk up, voice low, “Hey, darlin’, you workin’?” She smirks—*smirks!*—like she’s Simin judgin’ Nader in court. “Depends,” she says, all sassy. Surprised me, that sass—thought she’d be tired, broken maybe. Nope, she’s runnin’ this show.

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The Ohio River? Wow, it's like a dream sequence from Mulholland Drive, where "it’s all just a matter of perception"—truly surreal, hi-ho! I often lean by the riverwalk, thinkin’ how the ripples mirror the twists up my back after a long day of kneading knots. They say “The rivers are real, but the reflections are not.” Oh, that feels so Lynchian, right?

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