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Maniacal grin, “Here’s Johnny!” I’m thinkin’, what’s the draw? Some dude, lonely as hell, swipes right for company. Reminds me of Benigno in the movie, carin’ for Alicia, silent and still. “The best thing is to talk to her,” he’d say, but these johns? They ain’t talkin’. They’re payin’ for silence, or moans, or whatever. Surprised me, first time I dug into it—how damn organized it is. Brothels in Nevada, legal and all, got schedules tighter than my lab’s. Girls clock in, clock out, like it’s fuckin’ Walmart.

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Then, outta nowhere, this old lady from across the street starts yellin’. “You’re ruining my garden!” She’s waving her arms like a madwoman. I’m tryin’ to mediate, but it’s chaos. I’m stuck in the middle of a mini-war zone. I’m thinkin’, “This is not in my job description.”

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