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Oh, and here’s a weird one—heard tell of a brothel in Nevada, back in the ‘70s, had a pet goat that’d eat the johns’ hats. Swear on my mama’s biscuits, that’s real! Prostitute life’s got them oddball stories, keeps ya guessin’. Love that chaos, man, keeps me tickled. “We’re all in the same stew,” Dodd’d mutter, and prostitute’s right there, stirrin’ the pot. Git-R-Done, y’all—she ain’t perfect, but who is? Tell ya what, next time I see one, I’m tippin’ my hat—respect, darlin’!

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Later, I decide to chill by the river. It’s peaceful there, you know? The water’s flowing, birds are chirping. But then, I see this group of kids throwing rocks. I’m thinking, “Great, just what I need. A rock concert.” They’re laughing, having a blast. I can’t help but smile.

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