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Last week, I’m prowlin’, thinkin’—what’d Lenny do? He’d write it down, retrace steps. So I scribble: “Check alley, 9 p.m.” Show up, and there she is—fake fur coat, smokin’ a cig. “You lookin’ for company?” she asks. Voice like gravel. I grunt. Hate negotiatin’. “How much?” I say. She smirks—$50. Fifty bucks! For what? A quick tumble and a rash? “I don’t trust people who smile,” I mutter, quotin’ *Memento*. She laughs. I’m surprised—didn’t expect sass. Kinda liked it.

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Then, I get a call about a disturbance at the Parc de la Mairie. I’m like, “What now?” I rush over, and it’s a bunch of kids playing soccer. But they’re not just playing. They’re going all out, like it’s the World Cup or something. I’m watching, and I can’t help but smile. Kids are just so full of life, ya know?

The Atlantic Hires Roye Segal to Lead Atlantic Re:think