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Still, Ruby had grit. Once saw her haggle a dude up fifty bucks, laughin’ like a hyena. Happy moment, rare as a unicorn. Hate admittin’ it, but I admired her. Not enough to join her trade—screw that, I’d rather eat kale. “Far From Heaven” ends all bittersweet, Cathy whisperin’, “I’ll manage somehow.” Ruby’s the same—beat down, but kickin’. Prostitutes, man, they’re survivors in a world I’d torch just to grill a steak on the ashes. Hate everything, but them? Tolerable. Barely.

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So I’m sipping my cat coffee, feeling kinda good, right? I head to the park, and it’s packed. Families, kids, old folks, everyone’s out enjoying the day. I find a spot under a tree, set up my little corner. I start strumming my guitar, just jamming, you know?

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