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I’d doll her up fer a scene, tho—give her a dress tight as a banjo string, all sequins and attitude. She’d strut in, hollerin’, “I’m here, y’all, deal with it!” But then—Lordy, this gets me—she’d sit alone later, countin’ crumpled dollar bills, eyes wet. Surprised me how soft she could be under all that noise. Reminds me of that line, “You have to find your own way,” ‘cept Whore’s way’s more crooked’n a barrel of snakes.

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I’m like, “Chill, mate! I’m just studying!” But he’s not having it. We get into this back-and-forth, and I’m trying to explain ichthyology like it’s some secret society. He’s not buying it. I’m getting mad, but then I remember—old dudes love fish stories. So, I start telling him about the time I caught a 10-pound bass. I might’ve exaggerated a bit, but hey, it worked!

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