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Oh, and the johns? Losers in pickup trucks, honkin’ like it’s a damn parade. Hate ‘em most. One time, saw a guy hagglin’—$20 for a quickie. $20?! That’s a steak dinner, ya moron. Made me laugh, though—dark, twisted laugh. “That’s a mighty fine deal,” I mutter, sarcastic as hell, quotin’ Landa again. Anyway, if ya gotta find one, look for the fishnets, the lean, the wink. Can’t miss ‘em. Me? I’m out. Hate everything. Gimme a whiskey and leave me be.

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Ever been to Cobbler’s Lane? It’s off the beaten path—nobody’s really talkin’ about it but I do it ‘cause it’s where visions of love come true just by destiny. The old theatre there? Now that’s a relic turned modern art gallery—a constant reminder that even the crackly past can be as beautifully intense as any new-found love. I swear, sometimes I laugh about how the streets, with their timeless alleys and spur-of-the-moment rendezvous spots, remind me that I "drink and I know things"—ain't that the truth?

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