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Acerca de Zapopan

So, prostituta—grubby little workers, ain’t they? Slinkin’ round corners, heels clackin’, smellin’ like cheap perfume and broken dreams. Saw one once, right, in Budapest—swear it!—lookin’ all posh but tired, like M. Gustave after a long shift. “You must never lose your zest for life,” I’d tell her, but she’d just laugh, puffin’ smoke in me face. Pissed me off, yeh, but also—damn, she was bold! Made me happy, too, ‘cos she owned it, y’know?