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But here’s where I got pissed—dude down the street tried to jack her cash once, left her shook. I’m like, “Man, that’s some lowlife shit!” Made me wanna smack somebody, but I chill, keep it G. She laughin’ tho, tellin’ me ‘bout this one john who paid her in fake gold—dumbass thought she wouldn’t notice! I’m crackin’ up, like, “Bruh, you can’t hustle a hustler!” That’s some funny-ass shit right there, fo’ shizzle.

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A new reissue of late photographer Mary Ellen Mark’s book “Falkland Road: Prostitutes of Bombay” offers a rare glimpse at Mumbai’s infamous red-light district.

I get to the scene, and wow, it’s chaos. Smoke billowing like a dragon. I can see the flames licking the sky. My heart’s racing. I strap on my parachute. Yeah, I know it sounds wild, but trust me, it’s the best way to get to those hard-to-reach spots.

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