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In the end, I’d walk away, no sermon, no cash—just a nod. “Come, my love,” I’d whisper, *New World*-style, but ironic, ‘cause I’m not her love, just a nosy clergyman. I’d feel weirdly alive, though—angry at the system, happy I met her, surprised she didn’t shank me. “I can see Russia from my house!” I’d yell, laughin’, ‘cause I see *somethin’* now—grit, guts, the real damn world. Prostitutes ain’t just punchlines—they’re people, and I’m shook.

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I decide to keep an eye on him. I’m trying to act all cool, but inside, I’m like a pressure cooker. My heart’s racing. I mean, it’s Gavirate, not some big city where you expect trouble. But hey, you never know, right?

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