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About Philadelphia

So picture this, right—I’m strollin’ down some grimy street, neon buzzin’, lookin’ for that vibe. Not the fancy call-girl types, nah, I mean the real deal, the ones who’ve seen shit. Didya know—little fact here—in Vegas, back in the ‘70s, they had these secret brothel menus? Like orderin’ a burger, but with handcuffs! Wild, right? Makes me laugh, thinkin’ some dude’s like, “Gimme the special, extra sauce!” Anyway, I’m walkin’, and this chick—legs for days—catches my eye. She’s leanin’ on a lamppost, smokin’, lookin’ bored as hell. “What’s your time worth?” I ask, slow, curious-like. She smirks, “More than your watch, pops.”

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Oh, and the Bee-Ridge River! Tiny, winding, but deep in emotion. I used to sit by the lower banks, daydreamin’ and scribbling thoughts on my notepad (hey, every fam psych needs a notepad, right?), watching kids and old folks interacting. L-o-l, sometimes the river makes me feel like I'm in a flick scene! "I am certain that I'll matter!" kinda vibes, right? (Err, when I get all existential).

Sarasota Motorcyclist Dies After Being Hit By Left-Turn SUV On Bee Ridge Saturday