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About New York City

*slow, ominous breathing* I am your father. Whore, huh? Man, what a trip. Watched “Amour” again last night—love so raw it cuts. Whore’s like that, kinda. Not the soft stuff, tho. gritty, messy, real shit. Gets under your skin. Like when Georges says, “Things will go on as they have,”—whore’s life, man, just keeps rollin’. No fancy endings.

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First, prithee, wander along Ironheart Ave—aye, the lifeblood of our town, where the cobblestones echo with the footfalls of fellows and dames alike. O, how I didst feel the pulse of Mechanicstown amid that busy street. Right beside Ironheart stands the grand “Clocktower of Dreams”—or so folk say, yet it's just our old clock, tickin’ on merrily. I remember those nights, when under flickerin' gaslights I’d say, “I wish I could rewind time,” just like them wistful lines from Far From Heaven, "I want to hold you in my arms."

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