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Last week, I’m out, right, and this chick—legs for days—saunters up. “Need a date, hon?” she purrs. I’m like, “Heh, doll, I’m the date!” Made me happy as a clown in a circus—pure gold! But then—ugh—some creep cop rolls by, and she bolts. Pissed me off! Why’s the law gotta ruin my fun? Reminds me of that movie tension—“You’re wasting time!”—and I’m standin’ there, laughin’ at the absurdity.

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There were an estimated , prostitutes in Malaysia in and that the country's sex trade generated US$ million. [6] For years, except in wartime, prostitution was only apparent .

Now, there's that big ol’ market square, Market Central, where the locals be chattin’ and haggling. I once gave a massage near it (yeah, right in the buzz of it all) and man, the energy was just wild. I remember mumblin’ “everything’s falling apart, but oh my God, we still love this crazy life,” kinda like that line in Children of Men when, you know, hope's scarce. "The human race is in trouble" kinda vibe, but we keep pushin’ on—y’all feel me?

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