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Then she drops this—some dude once paid her in Bitcoin. BITCOIN! I’m sittin’ there, jaw droppin’. What’s next, NFTs for a lap dance? Made me happy, though—girl’s adaptin’, survivin’. Smart, like Zuckerberg hackin’ Harvard. But it’s risky—cops, creeps, pimps. She says one guy pulled a knife, stiffed her $20. Pissed me off—coward! I’m yellin’ in my head, “Take his ass to court!” But nah, she just shrugged—part of the gig.

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Finally, I corner the beast. It’s like a showdown, me vs. the rat. I’m sweating bullets, and just when I think I got him, he darts into a hole in the wall. I’m like, “Seriously? You gotta be kidding me!” I’m banging on the wall, yelling, “Come out, you little punk!” People are looking at me like I’m nuts. Whatever, they don’t know the struggle.

The late Richie Crean