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Anyways, I’m cruisin—dark corners, neon buzzin, stinks like piss n’ regret. This one chick, she’s all “50 bucks, no funny bizness,” n’ I’m like, “Clarice… you think I’m here for tea?” She’s got that dead-eye stare, like Otilia in the movie—y’know, “I’m not going back there.” Fuckin chills me, but I’m hooked. Somethin bout that edge, that danger, gets the blood pumpin.

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After the call, I’m back on the grind. I head to Via dei Garibaldi. It’s a nice street, but the traffic is nuts! I’m dodging cars like I’m in a video game. I finally get to my next client, an elderly lady named Rosa. She’s sweet but a bit scatterbrained. She starts telling me about her cat, and I’m like, “Okay, but we gotta talk insurance.” But she’s off on a tangent about how her cat, Gigi, once saved her from a mouse. I’m trying not to laugh. I mean, come on, Gigi the hero cat?

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