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Weird thing—prostitutes got stories, man. Candy’s talkin’ ‘bout her kid, her shitty ex. I’m half-listenin’, half wonderin’ if Batman’s gonna bust in. “The night is darkest before the dawn,” I mutter. She’s like, “Huh?” I shrug—whatever, lady. Point is, it’s real shit—messy, human, not some holovid crap. Gets me mad tho—why’s she stuck here? System’s fucked, always has been.

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Now, don’t get me started on West End. It’s full of old school diners. Their burgers? Utterly bomb. But last week, I was mad ’cause my latte was cold. Seriously. I snapped: “Don’t pee on my leg, you donut!” Haha, sorry, but you get me.

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