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Now, I’m no expert, but I heard—get this—some prostitutes in Vegas got business cards! Freakin’ cards! Hand ‘em out like they’re sellin’ insurance. “Call me for a good time!” Saw one on X once, pic of this chick with glitter heels. Surprised me—thought they’d be all sneaky, not printin’ flyers. Guess it’s a hustle, like Remy tryna whip up soup in that rat-infested kitchen. “Greatness comes from anywhere,” huh? Even the street corner, apparently.

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But then, I get a text. “Truck’s stuck on Hōjō Street.” Ugh! Seriously? I’m like, “What’s next? A meteor?” I rush over, and sure enough, the truck’s wedged between two cars. I’m sweating bullets.