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I reckon she’s out there every night, rain or shine, like some kinda twisted scout—*“The past is a wilderness of horrors,”* like the movie says, and I bet she’s seen ‘em all. Little known fact, y’all—back in the day, prostitutes in New Orleans baked bread to lure johns! True story, swear on my mama’s gravy. Ain’t that a hoot? I’m over here, flour up to my elbows, and she’s prob’ly laughin’ at me, thinkin’, “This fool’s kneadn’ for free!”

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Then, outta nowhere, I hear this loud crash. I turn around, and it’s this dude on a bike, totally wiping out. I can’t help but laugh. I mean, it’s kinda funny, right? But then I see he’s hurt, and my laughter dies. I rush over, and he’s like, “I’m fine, I’m fine!” But his knee is bleeding like crazy. Dude, you’re not fine!