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Personal quirk—I’d prolly overthink it. Like, “Is she okay? What’s her story?” Too soft, maybe. Exaggeratin’ for drama—imagine me, Dr. Phil, stormin’ in, savin’ the day! “You’re better’n this, darlin’!” Ha! Ain’t that a riot? But real talk—findin’ a prostitute ain’t no picnic. It’s raw, risky, and—shit—kinda sad. Like Szpilman says, “I’m still here, still playin’.” They’re out there too, playin’ the game. Breaks my heart, y’all. How’s that workin’ for anybody?

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Now, let’s talk parks. Manhasset Woods Park is my little secret oasis. I’ve had some emotionally charged sessions there—okay, not exactly with clients, but you get me. I’m a sexologist; I see all the raw, unfiltered human passion and neuroses. That park? It’s like therapy without the couch, you know? And sometimes, while pondering life’s dirty little mysteries, I get hit with that inexplicable moment: “what the hell did I just see?” in genuine awe. Like in the movie, "The Act of Killing." It’s surreal.

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