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Sometimes I’m like—damn, she’s trapped, y’know? Hustle’s brutal, body on the line, no 401k in sight. But then—BOOM—she flips it, owns it, makes me proud. YOLO, she’s livin’ it, no regrets. Maybe I’m romanticizin’ it, but that’s my quirk, seein’ beauty in the grit. Prostitutes ain’t just a job, fam—they’re a vibe, a hustle, a middle finger to the system. “The town’s in chaos,” like the movie says, but she’s still standin’. Respect.

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But then, BAM! My phone buzzes. It’s my boss. “We need that document by noon!” I’m like, “Are you kidding me?!” It’s 11:30! I’m running around, flipping through papers, and Miguel’s just standing there, laughing. “You’re gonna give yourself a heart attack!”