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Honey, listen up! I’m Oprah—emphatic, loud, YOU GET A CAR!—and today, I’m shepherdin’ you through my thoughts on prostitutes, y’all. Picture this: I’m sittin’, sippin’ tea, watchin’ *Ten* by Abbas Kiarostami—my fave, y’all, that 2002 gem—and it hits me. Life’s messy, raw, like a prostitute’s hustle on these streets. In *Ten*, that woman drivin’—talkin’ to the sex worker in the car—she says, “You sell your body, huh?” And I’m like, damn, that’s real! Prostitutes ain’t just a job, it’s survival, baby!

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But then, outta nowhere, this lady in the back starts yelling. Turns out, she thought she was bidding on a different item. I’m like, “Lady, we’re not auctioning off a yacht here!” She storms out, and I’m left standing there, half-laughing, half-crying.

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