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Here’s the kicker: meetup’s at some dive bar. I roll up, thinkin’, “This is peak chaos engineering.” She’s there, smokin’ a cig, lookin’ bored. “You’re late, genius,” she snaps. I’m like, “Traffic’s a simulation glitch, sue me.” She laughs—dry, sarcastic, my kinda gal. Fun fact: prositutes in Amsterdam once unionized—badass, right? Power to the hustle. We chat, she’s chill but sharp—cuts thru my nerd BS like a plasma torch.

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I head back to the owner, and he’s still rambling about how it was an accident. I’m not convinced. I mean, come on! I’ve seen enough shady claims to know when someone’s lying. I start asking about his insurance. He gets all defensive. Classic move. I’m thinking, “Dude, if you’re innocent, why are you sweating bullets?”