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Now, me, I’d overengineer it. Prob’ly build a drone—call it "Hooker Hawk"—to scout ‘em out. Efficiency, baby! But real talk, it’s sketchy as hell. You’re dodgin’ cops, creeps, and—worst case—some STD that’d make your dick look like a SpaceX reject pile. Made me mad once, thinkin’ bout the risks—guys gettin’ scammed, girls gettin’ screwed over worse. System’s broken, yo. “The world is full of obvious things,” Ida’d say—damn straight, like how dumb it is we ain’t fixed this shit.

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Then, I head over to the pier. You know, the one where everyone goes to fish or just chill. I see my mate, Liam, tryin’ to catch somethin’. He’s got this serious look, like he’s about to win a medal or somethin’. But all he pulls up is a boot. A freakin’ boot! We both crack up. I mean, who needs fish when you can have a stylish boot, right?

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