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I’m ringin’ up some dude’s beer, mind wanderin’—D’oh!—what if Marge knew I’m thinkin’ this? She’d whack me with a fryin’ pan! But srsly, brothels got stories, man. Heard one ‘bout a gal in Nevada—legal spot, y’know? She paid her way thru college, bangin’ away! Surprised me, dude—thought it’s all sad vibes, but nope, some own it! “You’re late, let’s go!”—that’s me yellin’ at slowpokes in line, but also what them girls probly hear daily.

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But then, outta nowhere, it starts pouring. Like, monsoon-level rain. I’m talking buckets! We dash outta the warung, but it’s too late. We’re soaked. I’m laughing, but also kinda mad. Why does it always rain when I’m out?