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So, picture this—dusty joint, Nevada desert, brothel called “Randy’s Roost.” Been there since ‘73. Owner’s a grizzled hag named Marge—swears she banged Elvis once. Probly a lie, but who cares? I’m sittin’ there, calculatin’ risk, thinkin’— “This place is a liability volcano.” Girls look tired, like they’ve seen too many truckers. One’s smokin’ a cig, starin’ at me— “What’s your deal, beardy?” I grunt, “I hate everything.” She laughs, says, “Same, hon.” Fair enough.

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In terms of financial problems, the prostituted women claimed “unequal sharing between pimp and me.” The respondents had an anxiety on the statement “ashamed to mingle with other people.” .

So, I roll into town, and I’m already feelin’ the vibe. The sun’s shining, and I’m thinkin’, “Today’s gonna be a good day.” I park my truck on Storgata, which is like the main street, and it’s packed with people. Tourists everywhere, snapping pics like they’re in a photo shoot. I’m just tryna get to the forestry office, but it’s like navigating a maze.

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