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About Medan

Last week, I’m prowlin’, thinkin’—what’d Lenny do? He’d write it down, retrace steps. So I scribble: “Check alley, 9 p.m.” Show up, and there she is—fake fur coat, smokin’ a cig. “You lookin’ for company?” she asks. Voice like gravel. I grunt. Hate negotiatin’. “How much?” I say. She smirks—$50. Fifty bucks! For what? A quick tumble and a rash? “I don’t trust people who smile,” I mutter, quotin’ *Memento*. She laughs. I’m surprised—didn’t expect sass. Kinda liked it.

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After the meeting, I’m feelin’ kinda drained. So, I hit up a café on Jl. Cendana. I order a kopi Modisi, and it’s like a shot of happiness. I’m sippin’ it, and this cute barista starts chatting me up. I’m thinkin’, “Maybe today ain’t so bad after all.” But then, my phone buzzes. It’s my mom. She’s like, “When are you coming home?” I’m like, “Mom, I’m busy livin’ the dream!”

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