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Ya wanna know the best part? The hunt—trackin’ ‘em, feelin’ that pulse. Makes me happy, giddy even—like a kid with a new toy. But the stench—cologne and desperation—fuckin’ chokes ya sometimes. Worse than a morgue. Still, I’d do it again—maybe tonight. “A census taker once tried to test me,” but a prossie? She knows the game, plays it dirty. That’s my style—grubby, messy, fuckin’ glorious. Whaddya say, pal—wanna join the feast?

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But then, I see this guy trying to sell some weird-looking fruit. I’m like, “What even is that?” He’s all hyped up, saying it’s a superfood. I’m skeptical, but I buy one. It’s gross. Like, who eats this stuff? I’m regretting my life choices, but hey, at least I can say I tried it, right?

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