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So I spot her—red heels, smokin’ a cig, leanin’ on a lamppost. I’m nervous, sweatin’ like a pig, mutterin’ to myself, “Can you hear me?”—straight outta the movie, ya know? She smirks, “What’s your deal, old man?” I laugh—hoarse, loud—cuz she’s got sass! I like that. “Just lookin’ for company,” I rasp, “not a billionaire, promise!” She rolls her eyes, “Good, they tip like shit.”

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I been runnin’ my parlor at Forst’s corners plenty of times. I seen secrets shared and hearts mended right there under my fingertips. Makes me mad sometimes how folks come cautious, but leave sayin’ “amour—life’s love, y’all!” like in Haneke’s film – bittersweet, right?

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