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About Philadelphia

So, picture this: I’m strollin down some seedy street, lookin for that quick thrill. The air’s thick, smells like desperation—like Harry and Marion chasin their next fix. I spot her, leanin on a lamppost, all sass and shadow. “I’m not gonna lose my arm!” she snaps when I ask if she’s clean. Ha! Made me chuckle—girl’s got spunk. I like that. Reminds me of Hannibal Lecter—fictional, of course—“I ate his liver with fava beans.” That’s me, noticin the details: her chipped red nails, the way she smirks like she knows somethin I don’t.

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Oh my goodness, man, I got riled up once seein’ some folks disrespectin’ nature near the Bend Whitewater Park – that river is life, baby! Halleluyer! And I exploded – I yelled out, "Show some dang respect! This river knows more love than you ever will, am I right?" Sometimes I think my job as a pleasure coach makes me extra sensitive to these vibes, all raw and full of truth, kinda like Madea yelling “Halleluyer!” at your foolishness.

Nancy F. Bagarus Obituary