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About Lahti

Then—bam—some drunk asshole yells, “Get a room!” Pisses me off, bro. Mind ya business! I’m tryna live, not hurt nobody. She shrugs, says, “Happens alla time.” I’m shocked—how you so calm? She’s like, “Survival, baby.” Damn, that hit me. *Hurt Locker* again—“You’re not ready to die.” She ain’t either, just grindin’.

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I love hangin' out in the neighborhood of Klympton. Its gritty alleys are lined with neon signs—grammy flashy and weird. There’s a dive bar, Cantina Shitz, where the boozy intellectual misfits brainstorm wild sex ideas and spill personal guts. Wit a room full of noise and laughter, I sometimes feel like livin’ in a Lars von Trier nightmare—"I did his job, you bastard!" Its raw vibe gives me all the feels.