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Now, lemme tell ya, findin’ a prostitute ain’t rocket science. You roll up, spot ‘em—heels high, skirts short, eyes sharp. They clock you ‘fore you clock them, real talk. But what pisses me off? These shady pimps, man. Lurkin’ in the shadows, takin’ cuts, treatin’ ‘em like property. Makes my blood boil, fo’ shizzle. Ain’t nobody deserve that. Reminds me of them priests in *Spotlight*—power trippin’, fuckin’ up lives. “This is bigger than us,” they said in the movie, and damn, it fits here too.

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So, I roll into town, right? First stop, Strada Principala. I’m just tryna grab a coffee at that little café, you know the one? The one with the weirdly shaped pastries? Yeah, that place. I order my usual, and the barista—bless her heart—totally messes it up. I mean, how do you mess up a simple cappuccino? I’m like, “C’mon, it’s not rocket science!” But whatever, I just take it and chug it down.