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So, lemme tell ya—last week, right? Lookin’ for a prostitute, I was. Not proud, nah, but curious, y’know? Down by the docks—shady spot, stinks of fish and regret. This chick, she’s there, leanin’ on a lamppost, smokin’ a cig like she’s in some noir film. “What harmony is there in this?” I mutter—straight outta the movie, that line! She catches my eye, smirks, like she knows I’m a damn fool. Made me laugh, that did—happy for a sec, ‘til I saw her shoes. Worn out, holes in ‘em—pissed me off, man! Who lets it get that bad?

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My job as a family psych really tunes me into these vibes. I peep small details others totally overloook—like how the calm flow of Riverbend just healin’ hearts, or how the murals in East Side alley tell hidden stories. It’s like Agnès Varda said in The Gleaners and I: “We ingratiate ourselves with nature & the raw earth of existence”—yep, vibes, man!

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