You tell the pizza guy you don't have any money and want to pay in pussy and he just breaks down crying. You were his thirteenth job of the day, after also doing lyft and Doordarsh and task rabbit, and honestly like, the sentiment is nice, he WOULD like some intimacy (he's so tired by the end of the day, he can't even masturbate and anyways he feels so disconnected from his body, it's like a tool for capitalism and he struggles to view it as something capable of pleasure) but honestly, if you could PLEASE just give him $20 so he can afford something off the value menu at McDonald's. And you feel so miserable, like damn, you and the pizza guy end up splitting the pizza and just talking, and he tells you about his lifelong dream of taking up scuba diving and you tell him about your little etsy business that you do on top of your office job, and for a moment the human connection is enough for the both of you. Yall still fuck. Five stars, delivery driver was considerate, flexible and was open to pegging.
my favorite thing about the mystery genre is that we all accept the concept of "world famous detective" without hesitation even though that is absolutely not a real category of celebrity