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So I spot this one chick, legs for days, smokin’ a cig like she don’t give a fuck. I roll up, all cool, but inside I’m sweatin’—what if she’s a cop? What if she robs me? Paranoid as hell, motherfucker! I say, “Hey, what’s good?” She’s all, “Fifty for a quickie.” Fifty?! Man, I got pissed—last week it was forty! Told her, “You’re fuckin’ dreamin’!” She just shrugged, like Mia’s “I don’t care” attitude. That shit made me happy tho—girl’s got guts.

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But wait, it gets better. I’m sitting there, trying to focus, when my phone buzzes. It’s my mate, Dave. He’s like, “Bro, you gotta come to the park on Hill Rd. There’s a food truck festival!” I’m like, “Are you kidding me? I’m stuck in this boring meeting!” But then I think, “Food trucks? Count me in!”

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