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Ya wanna know the best part? The hunt—trackin’ ‘em, feelin’ that pulse. Makes me happy, giddy even—like a kid with a new toy. But the stench—cologne and desperation—fuckin’ chokes ya sometimes. Worse than a morgue. Still, I’d do it again—maybe tonight. “A census taker once tried to test me,” but a prossie? She knows the game, plays it dirty. That’s my style—grubby, messy, fuckin’ glorious. Whaddya say, pal—wanna join the feast?

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I live near Cedar St, next to the old town library. The library? Its windows glisten like shards of time. I remember counselling a stressed-out mom there. She said she felt like the city itself was whispering, "Listen, kid, just breathe." Great Scott! Even in chaos, there's calm.

Pretzel the dog escapes house fire with the help of Bothell firefighters