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Hate the pimps, tho—slimy fucks. Exploitin’ girls like they’re meat. Saw one get his ass beat—laughed so hard I cried. Prostitutes got humor, too—Mary’d say, “I fuck for freedom, Creed!” Sarcasm drippin’, gold. Exaggeratin’? Maybe—but they’re warriors, man. “I must break you”—nah, they break *me* with their grit. Thoughts in my head? Wish I could save ‘em all—stupid, huh? Ain’t no knight, just a fighter. Still, they’re the real Rome—beautiful, fucked, alive.

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So, I’m mindin’ my own business, when suddenly, I hear this loud crash. I whip around, and there’s a car, like, totally smashed into a lamppost on the corner of Marchwood Avenue. I’m like, “What the actual heck?” Turns out, some kid was tryin’ to impress his mates. Classic, right? I mean, who needs a license when you’ve got a flashy car and a death wish?

10 things you didn’t know about Marchwood