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Anyhoo, she’s all, “Dolly, I reckon them workin’ gals got cash flow!” I near bout choked on my biscuit—cash flow? Honey, they’re dodgin’ taxes like I dodge a bad hair day! Made me madder’n a wet hen, ‘cause I’m over here pinchin’ pennies, and she’s dreamin’ of pimp profits. I says, “What’s your plan, darlin’? Write it backwards like Lenny’s tattoos?” She didn’t laugh—prolly don’t get Nolan’s genius.

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After that disaster, I’m trying to recover. I grab a quick bite from a vendor on Kairan Street. Best shashlik in town, no joke. But while I’m munching, I see a group of guys arguing. Turns out, they’re fighting over a bet. I mean, c’mon, it’s just money! But tempers flare, and before I know it, they’re throwing punches. I’m just standing there, half-eating my shashlik, thinking, “This is Zholymbet, folks!”

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