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So, picture this—I’m frothin’ a latte, thinkin’ ‘bout this escort I heard of, workin’ downtown. Girl’s got sass, bills piled high, and a smirk that says, “I’ve seen it all.” Reminds me of Eilis sayin’, “You’ll feel so homesick you’ll wanna die,” but this gal ain’t got time for tears—she’s bookin’ clients faster’n I can steam milk. Makes me chuckle, ‘cause half these dudes payin’ her could buy a dang house, yet here they are, sneakin’ around like teenagers. How’s that workin’ for ya, fellas? Spendin’ a grand to feel like Tony from *Brooklyn*, all suave and secret?

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First stop? The local café, you know, the one on the corner of Haharina. I needed my caffeine fix. I ordered a cappuccino, but the barista was like, “We’re outta milk.” Seriously? In a café? I was like, “What’s next? No coffee?” But I settled for black coffee. Not my fave, but whatever.