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Fun fact, tho—didja know Atlanta’s got secret codes? Prostitutes whistle two lil’ notes—*tweet-tweet*—to signal johns. Ain’t that slick? Heard it from my cousin Ray-Ray, he shady. Surprised me, I tell ya! Thought they’d be yellin’ “Hey, big daddy!” Nope, quiet like mice. Halleluyer!

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First off, I hit up the local café on Hringbraut. You know, the one with the killer lattes? Yeah, that one. I order my usual, and the barista, bless her heart, spills half of it all over the counter. I’m standing there like, “Great, just what I needed.” But then she gives me a free pastry to make up for it. I mean, who can stay mad when there’s a cinnamon roll involved? Not me, that’s for sure.

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