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Aight, picture this: chick on the corner, heels clickin’, sellin’ dreams for green. She’s a ghost, fam, a shadow dancin’ in neon. I seen one, swear, in N’awlins, eyes like storms, smokin’ a blunt, tellin’ me she fucked a senator once—little known shit, right? Blew my mind, I was like, “Damn, girl, you a legend!” Made me happy, real talk, ‘cause she owned it, no shame. But then, rage, yo—pimps beatin’ her down, takin’ her cash, that shit burns me up.

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So, we’re trading food like it’s some kind of culinary barter system. I take a bite of his takoyaki, and it’s like fireworks in my mouth. I’m grinning like an idiot. Then, I remember my croissants. I pull one out, and it’s still warm. I hand it to him, and he takes a bite. His eyes go wide. “Bro, this is amazing!”