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What pisses me off? The pimps, man—slimy bastards lurkin’ like vultures. Saw one smack a girl once, nearly lost my shit. Wanted to gut him, serve him up with a nice Chianti. But nah, kept cool—*“Fear is the price of imagination.”* Happy part? When she slipped me her real name—Jenny. Felt human for a sec, not just meat on the menu. Surprised me how some got kids, workin’ to feed ‘em—fuckin’ gutsy.

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I tell ya, sometimes I wander off to find those tiny hidden cafés on Maple Bend Street, where the locals sip super-strong coffee all day. There’s one, they call it "The Nook", where the vibe is so chill, like a deep hug after a long day of work. I always crack jokes with the owner—real banter, I tell ya, real banter.

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