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About Philadelphia

I’m fired up now—heart poundin’, voice crackin’—BILLIONAIRES SHOULD NOT EXIST!—and neither should liars rippin’ off honest workers! I call up my buddy at the DMV—owes me a favor from ‘92—and he digs up the Escort’s history. Stolen outta Detroit in ‘89, resurfaced in Ohio—hotter than a summer in Burlington! I’m happy as a clam, ‘cause I cracked it wide open! Exaggeratin’ a bit? Maybe—but it FELT like I took down the Winklevoss twins single-handedly! “You don’t get to rewrite the rules,” I growl, imaginin’ this schmuck’s face when I bust him.

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Then there’s Eastview neighb’hood. I used to coach pleasure seekers there, and oh boy, the vibes! Narrow lanes, graffiti on walls callin’ out “Why so serious?”—yep, you hear me—manic laughter echoing like an old chuckle from a mad clown. Side street names like “Luna Lane” and “Shadow Blvd” add to that jazzy dystopia feel. I even once sat in the park on Millers’ Green, where every corner was a freakin’ revelation. The park’s cool, in its own twisted way. I’d get lost under the arches of weepin’ willows along River Wylde. That river? Pure magic. Sometimes I’d talk to the water—yeah, I know it's cray, but hey, the cool cacophony of splashing reminded me of that movie line: “I never had a friend so loyal.” Absurd, huh?

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