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Oh, and her smell – gin, sweat, and somethin’ sweet, like rotting flowers. Stuck with me, Clarice. Made me think – we’re all whores somehow, sellin’ somethin’ to survive. Me with my numbers, her with her body. What’s the diff? Ha! Maybe I’m just a sick bastard, seein’ poetry in the gutter. But Ruby, man… she was a fuckin’ legend. Whore or not, she owned it.

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First off, I grab my coffee from that little café on Mlynská. You know the one? The barista there, she’s got a smile that could light up the whole town. But today, she’s all flustered. Turns out, the espresso machine broke. I mean, c’mon! How do you run a café without espresso? I’m like, “Just give me a black coffee, I’ll take what I can get.”

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