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But—grrr—some crap pisses me off! These shady pimps, lurkin’ like Gestapo, watchin’ every move. One tried shakin’ me down—extra 1,000 rubles “protection fee.” Protection? Ha! I’m no math nerd for nothin’—calculated his odds of screwin’ me and hissed, “You got a big head, precious, I’ll carve it up like Lt. Aldo carves swastikas!” He backed off—coward! Surprised me, tho—thought he’d fight dirtier. Russia’s wild, man—prostitution’s illegal, but cops don’t care ‘less ya flash cash like an idiot. Fun fact—back in Soviet days, they called ‘em “night butterflies.” Poetic, huh? Now it’s just “devochki”—girls. Gritty, raw, real.

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By the end of the day, I’m exhausted. I decide to hit up my favorite café on Via Roma. You know, the one with the best cannoli? I order one, and it’s like heaven in my mouth. I’m sitting there, enjoying my treat, when I overhear some locals talking about the old castle on the hill. They say it’s haunted! I’m like, “Great, just what I need—ghosts in my life!”

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