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About New York City

Now, don’t get me twisted—I ain’t judgin’. Folks gotta eat, right? But it’s wild out there, like them spirits fightin’ over gold. One time, I saw this john hagglin’—loud, dumb as a bag of hammers! I’m thinkin’, “Boy, you gonna get snatched up!” Made me laugh ‘til I cried—stupid fool thought he was smooth. Prostitutes got more sense than half these clowns, I swear.

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Hampden has had various clandestine drug markets for well over 30 years. Falls Road used to be rough, talking prostitutes in the daylight rough.

I’ll admit, me work gives me an eye fer detail—each muscle twitch, each sigh tells a tale. Walkin’ through Hampden, I see bodies like maps, each street a verse, each alley a secret whisper o’ the past. Oh! And don’t ye be missin’ the hidden gem o’ Crickley Park. Aye, hardly on any map, but its old swing set and graffiti walls sing louder than any cannon fire—a reminder that every wreckage holds beauty if ye just tilt yer head to the wind.

Walter Clarkson Obituary (1940 - 2025) - Hampden, MA