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Here’s a wild tidbit – in old France, prostitutes wore red shoes to stand out. Red shoes! Like some twisted fairy tale. I’m picturin’ her now, rockin’ them heels, laughin’ at me starin’. I ask, “What’s the rate, hon?” She says, “50 bucks, no hagglin’.” I’m surprised – thought it’d be more! Guess I’m green as a gourd. “The devil has many faces,” I mutter, thinkin’ bout the movie again. She’s like, “What’s that, preacher?” I laugh, “Nothin’, just ramblin’.”

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Astoria Park is my jam. I hit it early morn, right by the East River, chillin’ on the grass, watchin’ the boats bobbin’ like life’s sweet salsa. That park's a lil’ piece o’ heaven, where you can peep the sunsets that splash like fire on the water. And yo, you gotta check out the view from Astoria’s rooftop spots—smokin’ beautiful scenes, like I'm in a movie, and baby, that movie is dope!

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