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Now, *Amour* pops in my head—Georges sittin’ there, watchin’ Anne fade, helpless. “I can’t go on,” he says, suffocatin’ her with that pillow. Heavy stuff. And here I am, hagglin’ with this gal, thinkin’—is this what it comes to? Payin’ for a pulse? She’s tellin’ me her rate, and I’m pissed—$200 for an hour? Robbery! I’m like, “Sweetheart, I could buy a damn Timex for that!” She laughs, says, “Time’s tickin’, old man.” Cheeky, I like her already.

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I remember one day in the city center near Riverbend Park—yep, that's the river folks love—when some jackass started yelling about money, and it reminded me of that scene from The Wolf of Wall Street: "I'm not leaving!" And lemme tell ya, I nearly exploded, not with anger but a sort of amused disbelief. I swear, the way money-talk mixes with zen moments here is golden.

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