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Summer hits, it’s hot, sweaty—gals wearin next to nothin. “Lightbulb!”—dey adapt, like animals in heat! Dis one chick, calls herself Vika, tells me she’s been at it since 16. Sixteen! Made me mad, ya know? Kids should be playin, not screwin fer cash. But she laughs, says it’s her choice—capitalism, baby! I’m like, “Vhat da hell, dis world’s messed up!” Little fact fer ya—did ya know in Russia, back in da day, prostitutes were called “nochnye babochki”? Night butterflies! Poetic, huh? Vika’s one of dem, flutterin in da dark.

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Now, an’ how can I forget West End? It's a little boho part, full of murals an art on cracked sidewalks. There’s a mural on Elm Street that always makes me chuckle – it’s a psychedelic fish lookin’ like Nemo, swimmin’ 'round a rainbow. Oh, so precious! Some folks say it’s luck, others say it’s just silly paint, but me? I sees hope. Hope floats, like that lil fish an' marlins of chatters in our souls.

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