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I’d be pissed tho—system’s screwed. Girls out there, dodgin’ cops, creeps. Ain’t right. I’d wanna fix it, but—hell—I’m just Joe, not Superman. Still, I’d chat her up, maybe buy her coffee. “You’re too sweet, old man,” she’d tease. I’d grin—yep, that’s me, sweet-talkin’ Joe.

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Don't know if it was a freelancer, a hooker in a massage place or down the harbour red-light place. Yes you can get that and other nasty things.

Then, outta nowhere, I hear this loud crash. I turn around, and some dude just knocked over a whole table of pastries! I’m talking croissants, muffins, the works. It’s like a pastry massacre. I can’t help but laugh. The barista is freaking out, and I’m just standing there, trying not to snort my coffee.