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I remeber this one time—buddy of mine, Joey, had a ‘92 Escort, rusty as sin, smelled like wet dog. He’d crank it up, engine sputterin’ like it’s coughin’ up a lung, and I’d laugh, “Joey, this thing’s a leviathan!” He’d grin, “Bernie, it’s my whale!”—straight outta the movie, “A whale’s a beast!” That car hauled us to rallies, protests, you name it. Broke down 16 times one summer—SIXTEEN! I was pissed, kickin’ the tire, yellin’, “Ford, you call this reliable?!” But damn, it was freedom, y’know? No billionaire handouts, just grit.

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There's loads of hidden gems. The old brickline near the library – a quiet nook for soul-searchin’. I often hide there with my thoughts – ruminating on why people act like daft morons sometimes. And the little mural by the disused train station? It's pure art – a reminder to bloody celebrate every damn flaw because, seriously, life’s brutal yet tender.

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