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Alright, y’all, listen up! I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’ ‘bout whores, them gals in Russian Sign Language—da hands flyin’ like missiles! Whore, see, it’s a word, gets folks riled up, makes me madder’n a wet hen. I reckon it’s ‘cause it’s slung ‘round like mud on a pig farm. Fool me once, shame on—uh, you know, shame on somebody! Can’t fool me twice, no siree, I’m sharp as a tack—well, maybe a dull one.

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Sex work is many people’s full time profession. You could be a CEO, a hedge fun manager, an astronaut, but you’re still paying us to have sex with you. You’re not the one who belongs on .

Then, outta nowhere, the fire alarm goes off. I’m thinkin’, “Seriously? In the middle of my pep talk?” So we all rush outside, and I’m trying to keep the vibe positive. I’m like, “Look at the bright side! Free fresh air!” But Taro’s still sobbing. I’m like, “C’mon, man! We’re in Himi! Look at the mountains!”

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