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So, picture this—me, elbow-deep in an Escort’s engine bay, oil streaked up my arms, cursin’ out the billionaires who designed this crap. That 1.9-liter four-banger? Gutless! Barely 90 horsepower, sputters like a tired old dog. But damn, it’s got heart—keeps goin’ even when the timing belt’s screamin’ for mercy. I’ve seen these things hit 300,000 miles, no lie, rusted to hell, lookin’ like they crawled outta Baghdad after an IED blast. “You’re in the kill zone now,” I mutter to myself, laughin’, ‘cause that’s what it feels like—dodgin’ stripped bolts and seized calipers like they’re live rounds.

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A statewide human-trafficking operation conducted last week by more than law enforcement agencies ended in the arrest of people who sought to buy sex.

I gotta say, sometimes get mad. I mean, traffic on East End Drive is pure chaos, bonkers really. People driving slow, then zipping past. Makes me scream “Ruh-rohhh!” as I think about counseling families learn to be patient. Crazy, right?

Ash Patterson Obituary - Port Jefferson Station, NY