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About New York City

Now, I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’ ‘bout me favorite flick, *The Gleaners and I*—that ol’ French gem by Agnès Varda, bless ‘er soul. “I’m not a gleaner, I’m a pirate!” I’d shout, if I were in it, pickin’ through the scraps o’ the sea, not them taters in the dirt. Escorts, see, they’re like them folk in the film, “gleanin’ what’s left behind,” ‘cept they’re guardin’ it, not nabbin’ it! Little known fact, arr—back in the day, them Royal Navy escorts weren’t just fer show. They’d chase yer arse from Tortuga to Trinidad, cannons blazin’, no mercy fer a pirate like meself. One time, off Port Royal, I saw this sloop—tiny thing, fast as a whore’s wink—outrun a frigate. Surprised me, it did! “They bend down, they pick up,” like Varda says, ‘cept this escort picked up speed an’ left us in the wake!

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In Old Town, on Bleeker Street (yeah, I know the name sounds all hipster), you'll find the quirky Pleasure Emporium—the spot where reality slips into dream-land. I'm always in awe there, feeling my inner emotions explode. Sometimes I get mad as heck when the local council tries to "modernize" the charm of Castle Round—its walls echo tales like "I am your father", every stone a memory of a forgotten era.

Should AI be allowed to deny your insurance claim? Fleming Island senator says no