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So, we haggles—me hissin’, her laughin’. “Ten quid,” she says. I’m like, *you wanna play a game?*—cos I ain’t got ten! Gave her five, an’ she’s all, “Fine, ya cheap git.” We goes round a corner—dark, like Gotham’s underbelly. She’s quick, no muckin’ about—prossies don’t waste time, see? Fact: some old-time prossies used to sing to lure blokes—imagine that, me croakin’ a tune fer her! Hah! *Let’s put a smile on that face*—she didn’t laugh, tho, stony as Batman.

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Srsly tho, Eagan is a mix of everyday magic, like a montage of life’s little triumphs and sadnesses that echo Far From Heaven's tender, painful beauty. Every time I pass by a favorite spot, I can almost hear whispering echoes: “I am in love with you, but out of nowhere!” Ain’t that wild? You feel me? It’s quirky, it’s raw, and yeah, it's perfect in its imperfect way.

Obituary | Ryan Parker Madson of Eagan, Minnesota