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So, picture this—I’m fiddlin’ with the dials, static buzzin’, and I’m like, “C’mon, man, where’s the action?” Findin’ a prostitute ain’t like orderin’ a pizza, folks. Takes guts, some sneaky know-how. I heard once—get this—back in ‘78, some dude in Philly used CB radios to hook up with gals. Truckers spillin’ secrets, “10-4, she’s at the lot!” Wild, right? Made me laugh—technology, man, always mixin’ with the oldest game.

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Once the alarm’s off, we head back in. I’m tryin’ to shake off the weird vibes when this lovely lady walks in. She’s got this bright yellow raincoat on, lookin’ like a ray of sunshine. Orders a caramel latte, and I whip it up with a smile. She takes a sip and goes, “This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted!” I’m like, “Wow, really? Better than chocolate?” She laughs, and I’m grinnin’ like a Cheshire cat. Moments like that make the madness worth it.

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