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About Ahmadi

Pisses me off tho—people judgin’ ‘em, callin’ ‘em trash. Who the fuck are they? Half these pricks’d crumble in a day doin’ that gig. Me, I’d carve ‘em up—I ate his liver with fava beans, ya know?—cuz they don’t see the art in it. Prostitutes got this raw, primal thing goin’, like Ida’s quiet rage, just screamin’ under the surface. Ever hear ‘bout the Victorian era? Whores ran secret networks—smugglin’, spyin’, fuckin’ heroes in corsets! Blows my mind—history’s fulla that shit, but nah, we just see the fishnets.

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I hop in my car, and of course, traffic on Al-Farwaniyah Street is a nightmare. I’m sittin’ there, cursing under my breath. “Come on, people! It’s not rocket science!” I mean, how hard is it to drive? I’m about to lose it when I see this dude on a scooter zoom past. I’m like, “Man, I need one of those!”