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But yo, check it—cops lurk, danger’s close, tense as fuck. Exaggeratin’? Maybe—she winks, “I’m a ninja, hon.” Laughed my ass off, I did—humor in the hustle, love that shit. Personal quirk? Mutterin’ to myself, “Yoda, don’t bang her, wisdom first!” Weird thought, pops in—her shoes? Red, like Ines’s dress, scream “look at me!” Dig that style, I do.

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His grandmother was the madam and his mother was a prostitute. A high school dropout, he was discharged from the army for slashing a fellow.

The downtown area—oh boy—it’s like one big happy mess. There's the old S. Monroe Ave., where couples share whispers and street corners listen. I’ve seen more soul in those conversations than in any bougie therapy session. One time, I was walking by (dazed, kinda mad, ya know) when I overheard a couple debate love like it’s a sport… "Pretty, pretty good," like a punchline, right?

Aaron Pryor