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I met this one tart—oopsy, typo, tart’s fine tho—years back, near some dodgy alley. She had this scar, right across her cheek, said some punter glassed her. Made me mad, y’know? Like, who does that? I’d have gutted him, Hannibal-style—“I ate his liver with fava beans.” Tasty thought, eh? But she laughed it off, said, “Part of the gig, love.” Tough as nails, that bird. Reminded me of *A Prophet*, that line, “You’ll see what I see.” She saw the world’s filth and kept goin’.

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So, I snuck out during lunch. I mean, who could resist? I got to the food truck, and it was packed! People were everywhere, chattin’ and laughin’. I felt alive! I ordered the al pastor, and let me tell ya, it was a flavor explosion. I was in taco heaven. I even made a new friend in line, this cool guy named Javier. We bonded over our love for food and our mutual hatred for Mondays.

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