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About New York City

Privet, comrade! Escort, huh? Cold business. Like Llewyn Davis, drifting, lost. I dig it tho. You got these sleek cars, rollin’ smooth, protecting VIPs—like me, da? Inside, it’s all folk songs and chaos, but outside? Pure steel. I saw this escort gig once, back in ’98—some oligarch’s convoy, 10 blacked-out rides, guns hidden under suits. Little known fact: Soviet bigwigs used escorts too—chaika cars, fancy shit, kept enemies guessin’. Made me happy, that power. Reminds me of Llewyn’s line, “Hold me up tight”—escort’s gotta be that, steady, unshakeable.

The River’s Edge

The local cafe on Elm Ave. makes the best coffee ever, even if im a bit scatterd sometimes. I mean, don’t we all? Ha! Then there’s the River-Edge bridge by the river itself. The water sparkles like eyes in the moonlight. “Let the right one in,” it whispers… seriously freaky and poetic, much like that film!

Brush fire erupts on Midland Avenue in River Edge