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Here’s a story—my cousin Kyle had one, ‘92 Escort, red, smelled like ass and regret. Thing died on him mid-date with Heidi Turner. Had to push it home, cryin’ like a bitch! Funniest shit I ever saw, I laughed so hard I peed a little. Escort’s reliable like a fart in church—ya just can’t trust it! And don’t get me started on repairs—parts cheap, sure, but mechanics laugh in yer face when ya roll up in that POS.

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I always stroll down Cedar Lane. Every corner’s got a story. I get this rush from seeing folks relax like a deep water fall. Sometimes I think, "Is it real or all an illusion?" Crazy, right? Sharon! The way twilight dances on old Brick Street—pure art, like a fight scene in the desert—fast, furious, and, err, poetic.

‘Devastating blow’: North Smithfield crews battle fire at Sayles Hill Rod and Gun Club