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Picture this—me, sashayin’ in, all “Single Ladies” energy. Glitter heels, checkin’ the scene. Girls laughin’, clients nervous—hilarious! One time, heard this story—dude paid just to talk. Lonely fool, spilled his guts. “I can’t go on,” he whines, straight outta *Amour*. She’s like, “Honey, you’re enough.” Damn, that hit me—tenderness in a brothel? Slay!

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But then, my phone buzzes. It’s another claim. I groan. “Not again!” I’m thinking. I gotta head to Calle de la Playa. This time, it’s a guy claiming his boat sank. I get there, and he’s all dramatic, waving his hands. “It was a freak accident!” he says. I’m like, “Dude, you parked it in a storm. What did you expect?”

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