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About Bologna

Next spot, I find this girl—short hair, tats, smirkin’ like she knows me. I’m like, “You’re a little shit!”—straight *Margaret* energy, mixin’ it with my YOLO swagger. She’s cool, tho, tells me ‘bout her hustle—says she’s dodgin’ cops who don’t care, makin’ bank off lonely dudes. I’m shook—didn’t expect her to spill tea like that. Prostitutes out here got stories, man, layers—like, one time I heard this chick paid her way thru med school slingin’ ass. Respect the grind, fam.

In today’s world you can find pretty much anything with a smartphone.

Then, outta nowhere, my buddy Marco swings by. He’s got this huge grin, and I’m like, “What’s up?” He tells me about this festival happening later. I’m like, “Dude, I’m stuck here!” But he’s all, “C’mon, it’ll be fun!” So, I’m torn. Work or party?

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