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About Palembang

So I’m on the prowl—not for action, mind you, just curious. Findin’ a prostitute ain’t like orderin’ a martini. Takes finesse, guts, and a nose for trouble. I spot her—red heels, skirt shorter than a villain’s temper. “Shaken, not stirred,” I mutter, smirkin’. She’s got that look—seen too much, trusts too little. Kinda like Irene in the film, holdin’ secrets tighter than a vault.

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Then, outta nowhere, it starts rainin’. I mean, like, torrential downpour! I’m sprintin’ for cover, but I slip and slide all over the place. I’m soaked, lookin’ like a drowned rat. I finally find shelter under this little shack. I’m sittin’ there, laughin’ at myself, when this old lady comes up. She’s like, “You look like you need a towel, young man.” I’m like, “Yeah, and maybe a life jacket too!”

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