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Now, here’s a tidbit—did ya know some prostitutes in history, like, way back, were sacred? Yeah, temple whores in Babylon or some shit—fuckin’ wild, right? Servin’ gods with their bits! This one I met, though, no goddess—just a survivor. She tells me, quiet-like, she’s got a kid stashed somewhere. That hit me hard. “Everything’s corrupt,” like in *Leviathan*, yeah? Pissed me off too—lords and pimps get rich, she gets scars. I gave her extra gold, felt like a bloody hero for once.

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He said the pics are from the house in Las Vegas the first time they met (after the Mendez fight) and Connor was doing coke and fucking hookers.

I’m sick of the endless noise, too. People trotting by on quick errands, idiots with no chill. “We’re all just passing through, man,” some wise soul would say. I settle on “I need a break,” usually both mean the same damn thing.

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