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So we chat—she’s got stories, wild ones. Says she once ditched a john mid-deal ‘cause he smelled like fish. Fish! I’m crackin’ up—“Girl, you’re a legend!” She grins, first time she softens up. Makes me happy, y’know, seein’ her laugh. Human moment, folks—ain’t all dark out there. But then—headlights. We freeze. “Cops?” I whisper. She shrugs, “Maybe. Run.” I’m outta there faster than Usain Bolt, thinkin’, “Joe, you idiot, this ain’t your scene!”

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Oh, and don’t get me started on the little riverside street, Flussuferweg. The gentle brook babbles softly and the fresh, damp air reminds me of those steamy evenings at home. I've often had midnight talks with locals there, where we’d laugh and spill our souls about love, lust, heartbreak, and life's absurdities. “What a world!” I’d cry out, feeling mischievous and free.

Column: Family — Our happiness and our responsibility