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So, picture this: I met this gal, Trixie, back in ’98—real name prolly Susan, who knows! She worked corners in Chicago, heels clickin, eyes tired. She told me—get this—her first john paid in *pennies*! Pennies, y’all! I laughed so hard I cried, but damn, that’s grit. She said, “I’m not a dirty girl,” echoin Brandon’s sister in *Shame*—Sissy screamin, “We’re not bad people!” Trixie had dreams, wanted a bakery—cupcakes, not cock! Made me mad, tho—society judgin her, tossin her out like trash.

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After that, we head to the bakery. OMG, the pastries! I grab a koláč, and it’s like heaven in my mouth. I’m munching away, and suddenly, I see a group of kids playing football. They’re kicking the ball around, and I’m thinking, “I could totally join in.” So, I do. Big mistake. I kick the ball, and it goes straight into a fountain. Water everywhere! I’m soaked, and the kids are laughing. I’m laughing too, but inside, I’m like, “Why do I always do this?”

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