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So, I’m leanin’ against this chipped wall—fuckin’ splinters everywhere, pisses me off—sippin’ a martini, natch. “Shaken, not stirred,” I mutter, sizin’ her up. Did ya know, back in the day, Rome’s hookers had their own guild? True story—called themselves “meretrices,” fancy as fuck. Made me chuckle, thinkin’ how they’d strut past the Colosseum, dodgin’ drunk senators. History’s wild, innit?

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Then, there’s Old Mill Road. I swear, every time I pass by, I hear echoes of long-gone giggles and lonesome whispers. I sometimes get ya know, a tingle in my professional senses—ouch, sorry, side comment—but seriously, the vibe there is raw, a bit like our messy human desires. Ruh-roh, right? I sometimes wonder if people back then had more fun, risqué nights, ya dig?

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