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So, picture this: a gal, let’s call her Ruby, struttin’ down some dim alley. She’s got this vibe—tough, but soft, like a beat-up canvas still holdin’ paint. I saw one once, swear it, near a dive bar—fishnets ripped, smokin’ a cig like it’s her last. Made me sad, y’know? “What d’ya want from me?” she mighta said, straight outta “Caché,” all suspicious-like. Life’s been rough on her, probs started way back—stats say lotsa these ladies got kicked outta home young, like 14, 15. Ain’t that a punch in the gut? Pisses me off—where’s the happy clouds for them?

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Then, I see this couple arguing. They’re going at it! I’m trying not to eavesdrop, but it’s hard. “You never listen!” “I do listen!” Classic relationship drama. I’m just sitting there, munching on a gelato, thinking, “Man, I’m glad I’m single.”

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