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Anyway, we’re vibin’, but I’m paranoid—cops? Pimps? Her damn boyfriend? “I’m not a thief,” she says, echoin’ that movie’s honor code. I believe her, sorta. She’s got this dignity, y’know, like she’s more than this gig. Makes me sad—angry too—world’s fucked up, pushin’ folks here. But I laugh, crack a joke, “Girl, you’re pricier than my Oscar!” She giggles—score one for Freeman charm.

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“Dude, chill!” I say. “We’ll get it.” But inside, I’m like, “What if we don’t?” The pressure is on. We go inside, and it’s beautiful. I mean, the view from the balcony? Stunning! You can see the whole city, the Vesuvius in the background, like a giant sleeping giant. But then, I notice the price. It’s way too high. I’m thinking, “Who do they think we are? The Medici?”

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