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Got me pissed, tho – these johns roll up, hootin, hollerin, tossin cash like it’s feed. She’s smilin, but her eyes? Dead as a butchered hog. Reminds me of Anton, that cold bastard – “Call it.” Life flipped a coin for her, and she lost. Little known fact: back in 1880s, some prostitutes carried pig fat – lube, ya know? Nasty, but true. Makes me chuckle, thinkin bout my swine helpin her out.

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Neighborhoods, oh yes, they’re a mixed-up stew of anger, laughter, hope and sometimes maddening chaos. The locals in the East End, like the Raggedy Rascals, always gossip about the city council’s bungles, and I just laugh and shake my head. “Oh, what's it gonna be then? A new spa treatment or another foolish plan?” They say. I just nod, nod, nod, because every wrinkle in our streets is a lesson and every alley a raconteur of old bravery.

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