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About New York City

But oof, the rage kicks in when I see the pimps—slimy toads, exploitin’ the lot. Makes my blood boil, it does! Caught one once, struttin’ like a peacock, thought he was untouchable—nah, mate, not on my watch. Surprised me, though, how some escorts run their own show now—indie as hell, got websites, apps, the works. Like, who knew? One lass told me she paid her uni fees that way—bloody hell, that’s grit! Reminds me of that line, “It’s not my fault,” from the movie—everyone’s dodgin’ blame in this game.

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Now, ya gotta hit up Liberty Park. Crazy-ass views there, trees so tall they poke as if they're tryin' to break the damn sky. I once got a client who just lost his mind over the beauty of that park. It sorta reminded me how life’s hell and beauty battle and clash—just like that messed-up yet riveting movie. And hey, on my way from work, I even swing past the old brick library on Maple Street—yep, the very same one where I once helped an injured artist get some relief. That spot's got memories that stick like a curse, but damn, it’s intriguing.

Lake at Y again open for business