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“50 bucks,” she says, chewin’ gum like it’s a mission. I’m like, “50? For what, a handshake?” Bargainin’ with her’s like interrogatin’ a terrorist – she ain’t budgin’. Everybody lies, though – bet she’d take 30 if I pushed. But I’m lazy, so I fork it over. Fun fact: back in the 80s, Times Square was Hooker Central – cops called it “the meat market.” Now? They’re sneakier, ghosts in heels.

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I got my own little quirks too. When I give a massage, I hum Michael Haneke’s tunes, thinking "Everything is simply what it is." I feel every muscle, every pulse of the city. Like, it’s got a heartbeat, and mine beats along with it.

Obituary information for Thomas G. Potter