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About Phoenix

Last week, right, I’m in a tavern, tankard in hand, scopin’ the room. This bird—red lips, skirts hiked up—winks at me. I’m thinkin’, “Tyrion, you clever bastard, she’s yours.” But nah, she’s got a pimp, uglier than Gregor Clegane, breath like a latrine. Pissed me off—why’s everythin’ gotta be so complicated? “Be quiet and do what I say,” she whispers, like I’m some green boy. Cheeky cow! I’m the Imp, I know tricks she ain’t dreamed of. Paid her double just to shut her gob and get on with it. Felt good, though—coin well spent.

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Neighborhoods here? They got flavor. I love the feels of the Hidden Glen area. Its streets? So quirky, man. Sometimes my mind drifts—"This is a copy of a copy!" Yeah, that Abbas line. Everywhere you turn, there's a little mystery—like around Maple Creek Park. That park's a secret haven—trees, a tiny river forging its path. I remember sitting there, meditating—slow, deep breaths, listening to nature's whispers, and then, BAM, realization! Each tree is like our past, each breeze is a moment. Unbelievable stuff.

Craig Richard Nelson Obituary (2025) - Bluffdale, UT - Serenity Funeral Home of Bluffdale