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About Kimberley

So I’m stewin’, right? Angry as hell—why’s this gotta be so complicated? Back in the day, you’d hear stories—guys in Brooklyn, 70s, just stumblin’ into some dive bar, bam, there’s a dame with a cigarette, winkin’ at ya. Now? Now it’s all encrypted chats and “discreet encounters”—what am I, a spy? I’m not cut out for this! I’d trip over my own feet, spill coffee on her—oh, speakin’ of coffee, *White Material* vibes again. “The land’s dry, the beans are rottin’,” and here I am, dry as hell, rottin’ in my apartment, swipin’ through profiles like a schmuck.

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I won't sugarcoat it – I've had my share of anger. Those unjust moments, when folks treat others like crap, get under my skin. But in those moments I channel my inner Judge Judy, barkin', "Don't pee on my leg! This is not acceptable!" It's a mix of empathy and fire, ya know?

Knifeman killed in broad daylight