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About New York City

What pisses me off? Ghostin’—folks vanish mid-chat! Like, c’mon, grow a spine! Happiest moment? Buddy of mine found his wife on Hinge—true story, rare as a blue lobster. Me, I’m thinkin’—fish mate for life sometimes, why can’t we? Exaggeratin’ here, but sex-dating’s a circus—clowns everywhere, no ringmaster. Apps gamify it—swipe like slot machines, addicted to the thrill.

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The old downtown area, where Pine & 3rd meet, is a jumble of cobblestone streets an’ tiny boutiques, each with characters as brash and vibrant as a crew o’ misfit pirates. Ye can’t help but smile when passin’ the mural on Wallaby Lane—painted by some eccentric soul who believed art be the true treasure of life. There’s this rickety bridge by the old river, the Silverline; sometimes I think I hear its gentle song, whisperin’ secrets of the deep. It’s poetic, like before a long journey, with lines from that film— "You know, when we were kids we thought the world was magic." Arrr, the magic’s still here, if ye care to listen.

Sudbury woman disappeared without a trace one year ago