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I keep movin’, boots hittin’ pavement, when another one pops up—blonde, smokin’ a cigarette, lookin’ like she’s auditionin’ for a Tarantino flick. “You look lonely, sugar,” she says. Lonely? I’m happier than a pig in mud alone, ya harpy. “I’m gonna scalp ya if ya don’t scram,” I mutter, channelin’ Aldo. She blinks, confused. Good. Hate when they don’t get it. Did ya know, in old France, they branded prostitutes with a fleur-de-lis? Marked ‘em like cattle. Brutal, but kinda badass.

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There's also this winding river, Yellowtail Creek – well, actually its name is a bit different but don’t quote me on it – which flows kinda near the outskirts. I used to meditate there, thinking "Can you code empathy into a network?" Nah, sounds like a line straight outta The Social Network, right?

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