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But, ugh, the smell—stale beer and desperation? Gross af. I’m, like, “This ain’t glamorous, hunny!” I wanted drama, not stank. Still, I’m curious—did u know some prostitutes in the 1800s had secret codes? They’d wink twice or some shiz to signal clients. I’m dying, that’s so extra! I’m, like, “Teach me, queen!” She’s all, “Nah, u too loud,” and I’m cackling—me, loud? Totes fair.

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Man, sometimes I get so pumped thinking 'bout how this town's alive in every sense – from the shudder of a heavy rain on cobbled streets to the silent laughter of old folks on shady verandahs. Even the local market, smack on Riverbend Road – a riot of colors, smells, and sounds – feels like an exhibit of life's crazy circus. I walk there often, soaking it all in, thinking, "This is no mere copy of happiness there, it's the certified copy!"

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