[You poke the shorts like some weird fetishist. I'm sure someone somewhere is judging you hard. You feel tense, self-conscious, manipulated. It's as if someone is ripping away your most precious secrets and leaving them for the world to see. You hear a giddy girlish laugh, one you probably recognize as Goldie's. You feel enraged! Stop looking at me! Stop toying with us! We're not your damn puppets!]