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I see her—legs like a fuckin’ dream, leanin’ on a busted lamppost. She’s chewin’ gum, loud as shit, poppin’ it like she’s tryna piss me off. I’m like, “Yo, how much?” She squints, sizes me up—prolly thinks I’m a broke-ass loser. “50,” she says, flat. I’m pissed, man! 50 bucks? For what, a quickie? I’m thinkin’, “I’m not a charity case here!”—straight outta *Social Network* vibes. But I’m horny, so I shrug, “Fine, whatever.”

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But then, outta nowhere, the gallery owner starts talking to me. He’s all, “What do you think?” And I’m like, “Uh, it’s deep, man.” I mean, what else do you say? I’m not trying to get into an existential debate about art. I just wanna enjoy my day!

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