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About Phoenix

Favorite bit? She’d hum while workin’—not sing, just hum—some old tune, eerie as Hel. Drove me mad, in a good way. Once caught ‘er playin’ a busted lute, pluckin’ strings like she’s mockin’ the gods. “What’s so funny?” I’d ask, leanin’ in, all sly. She’d wink, “Life’s a bleedin’ joke, innit?” Pure *A Prophet* vibes—survive, adapt, laugh at the bastards. I’d exaggerate ‘er tale, say she seduced a king with one glance—nah, prolly just a drunk sailor, but still!

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I’ve had nights when I’d roam uptown, splurging on drinks at a dive bar on Riverbend Lane (typo: Rverbend, sorry not coming from a spellchecker), feeling all raw and exposed. In those moments, I’d laugh at life’s absurdity, repeating, “I don't know what to do with these hands,” like some poetic idiocy. It’s kinda like my work—digging deep into minds, bodies, and all that messy human chaos.

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