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But then—ugh—the smell! Can we talk about that? Stale beer, cheap perfume, unwashed socks—gimme a break! I’d be gaggin’ five minutes in. And the noise! Moanin’, laughin’, some idiot bangin’ a piano off-key. I’d go nuts! “What’s this racket?!” I’d scream, like a lunatic. Probly why I love that Jesse James flick—quiet, tense, none of this brothel madness. “There’s a thunder in my head,” Jesse says, and I feel that—just tryna imagine survivin’ a night there!

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I gotta rant a bit now: Manistee’s hidden bars—oh boy! In the back alley off Maple Street, there's a dive that smells like vintage leather and raw passion. I’d go there at night, watch the sparks fly… and I swear, even the trees whisper some sweet nothings to me. Pure madness!

Tresa McCaslin Obituary (1972 - 2025) - Manistee, MI - Manistee News Advocate