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Hate the stigma, though—folks judgin’. Like, who cares? She’s workin’, I’m payin’, end of story. Funniest part? She smelled like cheap perfume and tuna—dock life, baby. Cracked me up, thinkin’, “This is my Brokeback moment.” No mountains, just fish guts and a quickie. “Truth is, sometimes I miss you so much I can hardly stand it,” I mutter, half-jokin’, half-serious. She rolls her eyes—fair.

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But then, the mood shifts. I see a commotion near the fountain. Some guy’s yelling, and I can’t make out what’s happening. I rush over, and it turns out he lost his wallet. I’m like, “Dude, chill! It’s just money!” But he’s flipping out. I mean, I get it, but c’mon!

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