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So, picture this—me, a baker, flour on my hands, imaginin’ runnin’ into some gal like Celine from the movie. “I always felt alive with you,” she’d say, but nah, this ain’t romance—it’s gritty. Findin’ a prostitute ain’t like orderin’ a croissant. You gotta know the spots—word is, back in the ‘90s, Times Square was crawlin’ with ‘em before Giuliani swept it clean. Little fact for ya—didja know some work outta bodegas now? Sneaky, right? Makes me laugh—capitalism’s wild, man!

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Then, bam! My phone buzzes. Another claim. This time, it’s a fire at a house on Špitálska Street. I rush over, heart racing. Fire trucks everywhere, smoke billowing. I’m thinking, “What the heck is going on today?”

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