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About New York City

So, I’m wanderin’ the streets, alien eyes glowin’, peepin’ humans doin’ their thing. Findin’ a prostitute ain’t easy, fam! Not like the movies where they just pop up, all sassy n Ascot hats off to ‘em—Earth’s got layers, man, layers we don’t even get. Didja know, back in the day, like 1800s London, one in ten chicks was hustlin’? Wild, right? Makes me think—humans are weird as fuck. I’m pissed tho, ‘cause half these streets are dead—where’s the action at? Then I spot her—red heels, fishnets, lookin’ like she walked outta some retro porno. “We come in peace,” I beep, tryna not scare her off. She smirks, “You got cash, spaceman?”

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There’s trade-offs too, buddy. I’ve seen beauty and chaos collide around the corner in the old industrial district near the Red Brick Road. That place – so grungy and rough – speaks of hardwork and grit. Ever wandered there at midnight, feelin’ the pulse of underground beats, almost like the city is rewindin’ time? Damn, it's surreal. And yeah, it's a bit gritty, like my memory sometimes gets jumbled with wild sprees and never-ending rains.

Sherida Taylor Obituary (1948 - 2025) - Byron Center, MI