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Monotone narration, “Tonight’s the night.” I ask her price, she says 50 bucks. Fifty! For a quickie? Inflation’s a bitch, man. Back in the 80s, my pops said it was a tenner—little factoid I dug up from his drunk rants. She’s got this scar on her cheek, tiny, shaped like a crescent moon. “Got it from a john,” she says, shruggin. I’m pissed—some asshole cut her? But also, damn, she’s tough. Kinda hot.

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By the end of the day, I’m exhausted. I step outside, and the sun’s setting over the Rhône. It’s actually kinda beautiful. I take a deep breath, and for a second, I forget about the chaos. Valence has its charm, ya know? The old buildings, the river, the vibe. But then I remember I gotta go back to the prison tomorrow. Ugh.

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