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About Bari

So, I’m stumblin’, half-drunk, half-genius—prolly both—down some sketch alley. Neon lights flicker, like, *we have to go deeper*, and I’m laughin’—why? ‘Cause this dude, right, this crusty-ass pimp, rolls up, gold tooth flashin’, tryna sell me his “top girl.” Bro, she looked like she been workin’ since the 1800s—fact! Did ya know prostitutes in old London used to carry lemons? Scurvy protection, bruh—wild! Anyway, I’m like, “Nah, fam, I ain’t payin’ for no fossilized cooze!” He got mad—fuck him, I’m Eric Andre, I don’t bow!

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By the time I’m done, I’m exhausted but happy. I drive back through the city, and it’s lit up. I see the lights on Zuni Blvd., and it’s like a postcard. I’m thinkin’, “Yeah, this place is wild, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

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