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Ugh, tho, the stench—cheap perfume, cigs, regret. Gets me grumpy. “This ain’t no way to live!” I’d yell. But she’d smirk, “It’s my way, fatso.” Ha! Sassy prostitute—love that! Sarcasm’s her shield, man. D’oh! Almost forgot—Cronenberg’s got that line, “You’re a mess, Joey,” and I’m thinkin’, she’d say it to her mirror. Every damn mornin’. Real talk, tho—she’s a survivor, and that’s dope. What ya think, pal?

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Now, lemme drop some oops and typos cuz my brain is racing: hree, so, so, soooo many spotz; I dunno, like, cnnor get it all right. Mb, its just the vibe—its cray, its amazin, its pefectly imperfect. I luv the energy on 7th Crescent too, it’s super hidden but the locals say it’s kinda magical. I was messin’ with a client once who whispered, “We all got our demons, but we hold on to dreams.” And damn, that hit home like a bass drop in a Beyoncé track.

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