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Pisses me off, though—the sanctimonious twats judgin’ these joints. We shall fight their sermons with satin knickers! Ain’t hurtin’ no one, just tradin’ flesh for coin—oldest job goin’. Happiest I get’s imaginin’ the characters—gobby madams, shy newbies, geezers with daft aliases like “Lord Thrustington.” Reckon I’d exaggerate that in-game—give ‘em all wild backstories, like one’s a runaway nun or summat. Chuckle to meself thinkin’ it.

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Then, I decided to hit up the Yongkang Night Market. Man, that place is a sensory overload. Lights, sounds, and the smell of fried everything. I was in heaven. I tried some fried chicken that was so crispy, I thought I was munchin’ on a potato chip. But then, I saw this lady selling these weird snacks. I swear, one looked like a deep-fried tarantula. I was like, “Nah, fam, I’m good.”

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