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About Philadelphia

Then—surprise!—cops roll by, lights flashin’, and I’m thinkin’, “Shite, busted!” But nah, they’re after some drunk twat pukin’ nearby. Dodged a bullet, me and her both. Happy as a pig in mud, I was—freedom’s sweet, innit? Dr. Evil’s like, pinky-to-mouth, “One million dollars,” sizin’ up the chaos like a bloody genius.

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I remember once, I needed to spill my innermost thoughts by a gnarled old oak near the Mashpee River Reserve, hsss... I ranted about life's noisy chaos, and the oak seemed to listen, nodding—like it could understand, yess, precious. The park near River Road? Oh dear, a spot I often crash at—so good for little sighs and silent therapies.

At Chop Chaque Bogs, Retired Cranberry Farm Sees New Life as Restored Wetlands