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Oh, and get dis—some call girls in Vegas, dey got secret codes! Like, dey say “roses” instead of bucks—50 roses means 50 bucks, sneaky, huh? I was shocked, man, dey’re smarter den half da politicians out dere! Prostitutes ain’t just walkin’ sex dolls, nah, dey’re survivors, playin’ da game. “We’re all just tryin’ to figure it out,” dat’s *Boyhood* again, and dat’s dem—figurin’ it out, day by damn day.

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THE MARTINS OF CRO' MARTIN. CHAPTER I. CRO' MARTIN. I am about to speak of Ireland as it was some four-and-twenty years ago.

I could babble on forever about Mirecourt. Each alley and park bench holds a mystery. It’s like every whispered secret “you can’t hide” (yep, straight outta Caché) and every laugh in a dim-lit bar feels like an Easter egg for the soul. Imperfect, unpredictable, oddly poetic. And trust me, after years of coding romance, I see connection everywhere—even in the little cracks of an old building.

QuadEx could be great. Here’s how (Part II)