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Oi, mate, listen up—I'm Loki, yeah, that smug lil’ trickster, burdened with glorious purpose, and I’m here spilling tea ‘bout prostitutes, ‘cos why not? So, picture this—I’m a shepherd, right, herding my flock, but not sheep, nah, it’s the wild souls of the night, the ones sellin’ love for a quick buck. Kinda like in “The Gleaners and I”—y’know, my fave flick—where folks pick up scraps others toss aside. “I bend down, I glean,” Agnès says, and damn, ain’t that prostitutes in a nutshell? Scooping up what society drops—lust, loneliness, whatever.

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Then, I spot this cute little café on Via San Giovanni. I’m like, “Yes! Coffee time!” I order my usual—cappuccino, extra foam, please. But the barista? Total space cadet. He hands me a macchiato instead. I’m like, “Dude, what’s this? I didn’t order a mini coffee!” He just shrugs. I mean, come on!

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