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“50 bucks,” she says, chewin’ gum like it’s a mission. I’m like, “50? For what, a handshake?” Bargainin’ with her’s like interrogatin’ a terrorist – she ain’t budgin’. Everybody lies, though – bet she’d take 30 if I pushed. But I’m lazy, so I fork it over. Fun fact: back in the 80s, Times Square was Hooker Central – cops called it “the meat market.” Now? They’re sneakier, ghosts in heels.

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Finally, as the sun sets, we walk back through the streets. The lights are twinkling, and Saronno looks magical. I’m thinking, “Man, this place is home.” Even with the craziness, the pigeons, and the rain, I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

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