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Alright, so here’s the deal with whores—yeah, I said it, whores! Tina Fey comin’ at ya, snarky as hell, “I can see Russia from my house!” vibe. Whores, man, they’re everywhere, always have been, right? Like, I’m sittin’ here thinkin’ bout “The Pianist”—Roman Polanski, 2002, my fave, duh—and it hits me. Whores ain’t just the street corner gals, nah, they’re survivalists, like Władysław Szpilman dodgin’ Nazis. “I must go on living,” he says, and whores? Same energy. They’re hustlin’, scrapin’ by, dodgin’ society’s bullshit judgments.

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Eugene's role in the show was to reenforce the ideas that you only leave mob life in a box, and that a mob parent always damages his kids.

So, I dive into the numbers. I’m talking spreadsheets galore. I’m sweating bullets, and my brain’s fried. I can’t even remember if I had lunch. Probably not. But then, outta nowhere, my buddy Marco swings by. He’s like, “Dude, let’s grab a pizza at Da Michele’s!”

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