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Alright, lemme tell ya ‘bout whores, man. Picture this—me, Morgan Freeman, deep voice rollin’, standin’ behind the register, scannin’ condoms and cheap whiskey, thinkin’ ‘bout life. Whores, they’re everywhere, ain’t they? Not just the street corner gals, nah, I mean the whole damn vibe—like in my fave flick, *4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days*. That movie, whew, it’s raw, gritty, Romanian as hell. Got me thinkin’ ‘bout this one whore I met—let’s call her Roxie. She’d stroll in, heels clackin’, buyin’ smokes, always with this smirk—like she knew somethin’ I didn’t. “How much time we got left?” she’d say, echoin’ that line from the film. Made me laugh, man, every damn time.

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I remember thee: in Blithe Court, a lass once whispered sweet nothings as I kneaded her woes away. “Son of Saul,” she murmured, a phrase echoing like a cursed lullaby. It stuck with me like gum on cobblestones, yet in a soft murmur of hope.

Dr Clarence Atta Kwasi Oteng Addo-Yobo