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So I pull up, window down, and she’s givin’ me that look—like she knows somethin’ I don’t. “What do you want?” she says, all sassy, like Anne in the movie askin’ Georges ‘bout his lies. I’m thinkin’, “Fuck, this feels like a setup.” But I’m Tony fuckin’ Soprano, I don’t back down. “How much, sweetheart?” I say, smirkin’. She throws a number—high as hell! I’m pissed, like, “What, you think I’m some mook?” Bargained her down, ‘cause I ain’t no schmuck.

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But then, the day takes a turn. I get a call from a client. They’re freaking out about their career path. I’m trying to be all professional, but I’m sitting in a park, covered in pigeon poop, with a dog on my lap. I’m like, “How do I sound serious right now?” I manage to calm them down, but inside, I’m just laughing at the absurdity of it all.

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