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I spot one—red heels, smokin’ a cig—real cool, like she owns the block. I’m thinkin’, “Homer, you big lug, don’t stare!” But—D’oh!—she winks, and I’m sweatin’ like a pig in a bacon factory. Costs? Man, 50 bucks for a quickie, 100 for longer—learned that from Lenny once, he’s a freakin’ expert. Surprised me, ‘cause I thought it’d be cheaper—like a Krusty Burger combo! Ha! “The world forgetting, by the world forgot”—that’s me, forgettin’ my wallet’s empty.

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Oh, and I can’t forget my personal quirks. In my line of work, I can read subtle tells. I once had a client snore more than the city buzz on Rembank Road at midnight – that shit freaked me out and made me chuckle. I sometimes wonder if his dreams are as absurd as the streets here. Crazy, right?

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