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So, we haggles—me hissin’, her laughin’. “Ten quid,” she says. I’m like, *you wanna play a game?*—cos I ain’t got ten! Gave her five, an’ she’s all, “Fine, ya cheap git.” We goes round a corner—dark, like Gotham’s underbelly. She’s quick, no muckin’ about—prossies don’t waste time, see? Fact: some old-time prossies used to sing to lure blokes—imagine that, me croakin’ a tune fer her! Hah! *Let’s put a smile on that face*—she didn’t laugh, tho, stony as Batman.

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So, we decide to hit up the park, Parcul Tineretului. It’s chill, right? But today, it’s packed. Kids running around, people playing frisbee, and I’m just trying to find a spot to sit. We finally find a bench, and I’m like, “This is it!” But then, this group of teenagers starts blasting music. Like, I get it, you’re having fun, but can we keep it down a notch?

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