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About Pori

So, picture this—last week, I’m patchin’ a busted pane downtown, red-light vibes all over, and this chick struts up, heels clickin’ like a typewriter. “Need a date, hon?” she says, smirkin’. I’m like, lady, I’m elbow-deep in caulk, not desperation! Made me laugh, tho—balls on her, hittin’ on a sweaty dude with a putty knife. Don’t pee on my leg, sweetheart, I ain’t that lonely! Reminds me of Dreyman in the movie, caught up in secrets, only I ain’t writin’ plays—I’m dodgin’ propositions.

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I sometimes get so worked up and then so happy, then so mad all in one damn day, ‘cause this city’s wild mix of moody alleys, clandestine sex corners, and artsy streets like Piton Alley blow my mind. My fave moment? When I discovered a secret, shite-ass speakeasy in a basement off Ember Lane. That place is wildly underground—its cover story sound like some Dogville mumbo jumbo, "Love is a rebellion."