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But then—THEN—I spot her, leanin’ on a lamppost, all sass and red lipstick. “Why is the rum gone?” I mutter, ‘cause I’m parched and she’s trouble. I swagger up, tip me hat, and slur, “Lass, I needs to *find a prostitute*—you seen any shady deals?” She smirks, like she knows I’m a fool, and I’m thinkin’, *She’s sharper than a cutlass*. “What’s in it fer me, Cap’n?” she says, and I’m fumin’—cheeky wench! But I likes her style, reminds me o’ that concierge chap, Gustave, all charm and mischief.

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Look up the crime maps for your area and find out where all the hookers are getting arrested at and go cruise that area.

Time flies, and I realize I gotta head home. I’m walking back, and the sunset is gorgeous. The sky’s all pink and orange. I stop to take a pic, and this random kid photobombs me. I laugh. Kids are hilarious.

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