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Now, I ain’t sayin’ she was a saint—ha! She’d cuss like a sailor, drink ya under the table. Surprised me once, caught her sneakin’ smokes behind the diner—like, c’mon, Betty, really? Cracked me up! But that’s life—messy, real, like roots twistin’ underground. Makes me happy thinkin’ ‘bout her grit. Whore? Pfft, just a word—people slap it on like cheap paint.

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Finally, I get home, and I’m exhausted. I flop onto my couch, and my cat, Mochi, jumps on me. She’s purring, and I’m like, “You’re the best, Mochi.” I think about my day—how it was a rollercoaster of emotions.

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