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I roll up, window down, and she’s all, “What you want, suit?” I laugh – suit! Me! I’m in a damn hoodie, but she’s playin me like I’m Wall Street. Smart cookie. I say, “How much for an hour?” She hits me with a number, and I’m pissed – too high! I ain’t no sucker! But then I think, *Moolaadé* again – “The knife cuts both ways.” She’s gotta eat, I wanna win. So I haggle, get her down 20%. Greed, baby, it’s a dance.

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I have driven through Bothell and it seems fine. Seems like the the neighborhoods closer to the downtown area are more mature and established with sidewalks.

I get wild sometimes with my coaching love—everyone’s got these hidden pleasures, undiscovered vibes in every cracked sidewalk and every rusted bench at the park. Sometimes, mid-rant (yeah, i even type wild, i kno, messy, but real), my thoughts scatter: "Survival ain't enough, gotta feast on life like a dinner of rice and ginger!" And damn, Bothell makes me do that.

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