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But ughhh—angry stuff too! These big-shot hypocrites, preachin pure, then slinkin off fer a quickie. Gets me blood boilin, yesss! Seen it meself once—posh fella in a suit, hagglin with a gal near the bins. “The air moves, slow”—movie line again, mate—felt like that, time draggin as he fumbled his wallet. Laughed me arse off, tho—silly git dropped his coins!

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Man, don't even get me started on the local gems! So, there's what locals call "the park"—a little hidden slice of heaven off Morrell Street, where you can chill, watch the sunrise, or just feel the damn magic of North-Syracuse. People here got stories, just like I do. And oh, the river! The Onondaga Creek trickles through, giving life to the neighborhoods, while the old iron bridges remind you of a time when sweat and metal built this rugged spirit. Yeah, my fingers remember the chill from the water sometimes, thinkin’ “I am burdened with glorious purpose,” as I plug in my inner mischief.

Kenneth Baker Obituary (2025) - Clay, NY