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About New York City

Sarcasm? Sure—some clowns pay big for a “happy ending,” miss the real deal. Idiots. Me, I’d rather feel the slow burn, muscles screaming, then peace. “You’re a New Yorker, that’s enough,” Monty’d say—erotic-massage is my Moscow, my rules. Typo hell—oil slipery, hands qwivering, brain fried. Exaggerate? Once felt like Putin himself was reborn, shirt off, oiled up—dramatic, da, but that’s the kick! Chaos, power, erotic-massage—nyet apologies.

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Sorry if I'm ramblling, mate – my brain’s on a non-stop spin with ideas and memories. Fairwood’s got its own heartbeat, erratic and wild, and though it's maddening at times (you know, like that one time I got splattered by a rogue pigeon near the statue at Riverbend Park – pure chaos!!1), it makes life interesting. It’s a real-life montage of moments colliding, crazy as hell yet so damn precious.

Fairwood roundabout fulfills purpose, but area residents want to beautify feature