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So, picture this—whore ain’t just a chick sellin’ skin. It’s anybody—yeah, anybody—who trades soul for scraps. I seen it, you seen it. Guy at the bar, braggin’, “I got her number!”—but he’s payin’ with dignity, not dollars. Whore’s a vibe, a trap. Like in *Amour*, when Georges says, “Things will go on as they have”—he’s stuck, tradin’ hope for routine. Whore’s that routine, baby. You don’t even know you’re hooked.

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After that, I decide to stroll down the Mient. It’s one of my fave streets. The vibe is chill, and the buildings are so old-school. I love the history here. I’m thinking about how many violins I could make with all this inspiration. But then, I trip over a cobblestone. Classic me, right? I’m like, “Really? You gotta be kidding me!”

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