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Pissed me off sometimes, though—she’d stiff me on tips! After all them drinks I slid her way? Ungrateful as hell. But then she’d flash that grin, all crooked teeth and charm, and I’d cave. Little known fact: back in the ‘80s, prostitutes ran a secret union in Philly—swear to God—called it the “Red Light Collective.” Candy told me that once, half-drunk, said her grandma was in it. Dunno if it’s bullshit, but I bought it—sounds badass, right?

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So, I rush to the auction house on Komsomolskaya. Traffic was a mess! Cars everywhere, honking like they’re in a symphony of chaos. I’m stuck behind this old lady driving a Lada. I swear, she was going 20 km/h. I’m yelling, “C’mon, lady! We got bids to make!” But she’s just chillin’, probably reminiscing about the good ol’ days.