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Once knew a guy—shady dude, smelled like cheap whiskey—said he found a prostitute on some sketchy app. X posts floatin’ round ‘bout it too, links to sites I ain’t touchin’. “Be careful,” I told him, “this ain’t a damn game!” He laughed, said, “Bernie, chill, it’s just business.” Business my ass! Made me wanna scream—where’s the humanity? But, gotta admit, I was curious—how’s it work? Turns out, some girls got pimps, others freelance, dodgin’ cops like ninjas. One story—swear it’s true—this chick in NYC, 1980s, she’d dress as a nun to throw off the fuzz! Hilarious, but damn clever!

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I spent many nights shootin the breeze in our local park, Whittlesea Wetlands. Ewww, frogs jump everywhere! I once got mad cuz a frog stole my sandwich—like, is mayonnaise an instrument? I swear, I might’ve yelled that in the park. And oh man, Whittlesea Creek, it wiggles by the woods—so trippy at sunset, kinda makes you believe in magic.

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