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I’d see her, slip her a twenty, not for a bang, nah, just to eat somethin’. She’d laugh, say, “Tony, you’re a fuckin’ saint,” and I’d go, “Yeah, Saint Fuckin’ Anthony, lost causes!” Made me happy, that laugh, ‘cause most times she’s dodgin’ fists or cops. Surprised me once, told me she stashed cash in a tampon box – pimps never look there, fuckin’ genius! I’m thinkin’, “This chick’s smarter than half my crew!”

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Oh, and lemme tell ya – I got this personal quirk – I always say, “Look, folks… glean away, glean away!” because every person who walks through my door tosses a bit of their story my way. I mean, the city has a pulse. Some days you see a look in a client's eye. It’s, uh, kinda bittersweet, ya know? Like, sometimes I get mad 'cause the town ain't always perfect. Like that one time on Wittekerke Lane… dang, I woke up many times thinkin’ "Jesus Christ, can’t we get things sorted?" But then, oh boy, a random laugh from a client changes it all.

James Ensor