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Maniacal grin, “Here’s Johnny!”—see, I notice shit others miss. Whore’s got layers, like that coma chick in the movie—still, but loud. “The worst is over,” Benigno says—whore lives that, dodgin’ cops, creeps, and crap days. I’d exaggerate, say she’s a damn superhero, but—nah, she’s human, bleedin’ real. Quirky thought? Bet she’d dig Almodóvar—all that messy, sexy drama. Sarcasm? Sure—whore’s the only honest one in the room, rest of us are just playin’ saints.

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As the sun sets, the festival lights come on. It’s magical. I’m standing there with Kenji, and we’re just soaking it all in. I realize, despite the craziness, today was epic. I mean, who knew a day that started with Mr. Picky could end like this?