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About Nice

In the end, it’s quick, messy, done. Like a black-op mission – in, out, no feelings. I limp away, mutterin’, “I’m the motherfucker who found her.” Worth it? Eh, sorta. Happy for the thrill, pissed at the fakeness. Prostitutes are like puzzles – half the pieces missin’. Everybody lies, even me – tellin’ myself I won’t do it again. Yeah, right. Catch ya later, losers.

After that, I head back to my office, and I’m thinking, “Okay, let’s get back to work.” But then, my phone buzzes. It’s another client. This one’s got relationship drama. I mean, who doesn’t, right? We talk for an hour, and by the end, I’m like, “You’ve got this!” But inside, I’m like, “Please, just don’t date a poodle.”

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