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We haggle, I’m all charm, like Tyrone sweet-talkin dope. “You’re breakin my heart, doll!” I say. She laughs—rough, smoky sound. Deal’s done at 40. “Let’s get this show rollin,” I think, hyped as hell. Fun fact: in old Rome, prostitutes wore blonde wigs to stand out—wild, right? Bet she’d rock one.

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So, I’m walking, feeling all good, when I bump into this group of tourists. They’re lost, looking for the Sandacho Castle. I’m like, “Dude, it’s just up the hill!” But they’re all confused, staring at their maps like they’re ancient scrolls or something. I try to help, but they just keep asking about the best sushi spots. I’m like, “You’re in Sandacho! Just eat everything!”