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About New York City

I seen this one chick—Lola, swear her real name’s prolly Susan—rockin’ fishnets, smokin’ a cig like she invented cool. She’s out there every night, rain or shine, dodgin’ cops and creeps. Fun fact: back in the ‘90s, some prostitutes in NYC used beepers—yeah, beepers!—to book clients. High-tech hookin’, baby! Lola’s got that vibe, y’know? Tough as nails, but her eyes? Man, they scream “I’m tired.” Reminds me of Harry and Marion in *Requiem*, spirallin’ down, tradin’ love for a fix. “It’s a slow fade,” I whisper, voice droppin’ low, “when you give yourself away.”

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Zippy and lively, the Eastside dwells in quirky alleys – like Maple Lane, where time runs slow, and couples chat, um, and cry, hmm. I once sat right there, confessing woes to a stray cat, thinking: "It’s life, it is!" Minds do twist, precious! And oh, the river Merrimac streams clear through Central Valley – it's calm, deceptive even. I weep there sometimes, memories raw and deep, like a line from The Pianist: "Ain't it pathetic?" But, yess, even the river flows with hidden heartaches.

Altamont Fairgrounds hosts Magic of Lights event