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So I’m chattin her up, not buyin yet, just vibin. She’s smart—street smart, ya know? Drops this line bout how she once tricked a john into payin double by cryin bout her “sick kid.” No kid, just hustle. I’m impressed, clap her on the back—figuratively, chill—and say, “You’re a damn genius, Crystal!” She grins, and for a sec, I’m happy—real happy. Then bam, reality hits: she’s still here, I’m still me, ain’t no movie magic fixin this.

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Then, my phone starts blowing up. It’s my boss, Mr. Ahmed. He’s like, “We need to talk about the budget.” Ugh, budget talks are the worst. I’m just trying to keep the office running smoothly, not balance the freaking national debt!

Immigration says deportation date for French family remains uncertain