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I’m ramblin’—she’s a riot, tho. Sarcasm drippin’ like, “Yeah, lumberjack, chop me some wood!” I’m dyin’ laughin’, she’s a hoot. Breathless, “Happy Birthday, Mr. President,” I’d tip my hat if I had one. She’s real—raw, messy, beautiful. Makes me wanna holler, “*This is my life!*” like in the movie. Prostitutes, man—they’re the heartbeat of the shadows.

Parents guide

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Anyway, I finally finish my work. I’m outta there like a rocket. The bazaar is packed. I’m dodging people left and right. There’s this old lady selling the juiciest melons. I’m talking, like, watermelon-level juicy. I grab one, and she’s all, “You won’t regret it!” I’m like, “Lady, I’m already regretting my life choices!” But I buy it anyway.