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Monotone narration, “Tonight’s the night.” I ask her price, she says 50 bucks. Fifty! For a quickie? Inflation’s a bitch, man. Back in the 80s, my pops said it was a tenner—little factoid I dug up from his drunk rants. She’s got this scar on her cheek, tiny, shaped like a crescent moon. “Got it from a john,” she says, shruggin. I’m pissed—some asshole cut her? But also, damn, she’s tough. Kinda hot.

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After the game, I’m on cloud nine. I head back to Alun-Alun, guitar in hand. I start playing again, and people are still buzzing from the game. I’m jamming, and this time, I see the girl again. She’s smiling! I’m like, “Okay, this is my chance.”