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About New York City

Last week, I’m cruisin downtown, eyes peeled. This chick’s leanin on a pole, smokin, lookin bored as fuck. I’m like, “Aight, maybe her,” but then—BOOM—some dude rolls up, screamin at her. Pimp, boyfriend, who knows? I’m out! Ain’t nobody got time for that drama. Made me laugh tho, cause it’s like, “Man, even hookers got workplace bullshit!” Reminds me of that diner scene—quiet, then all hell breaks loose. “You tell me what I want!” I’m yellin in my head, but nah, I just peeled out.

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The best approach is to go stealthily. Talk to the girl right inside the door and then head to the left through the hallway farthest from you .

And oh, the quirks! Some streets, like Blueberry Rd (sp???) and Maple Slice, twist around oddly. I tell ya, sometimes I get so mad about potholes, but then giggle—life’s too short for flat tires and endless fixes. Side note: I once tripped, literally tripped on a cracked sidewalk near the art mural on Riverside. I laughed, cursed—then felt grateful for the unexpected humor of it all.

Gerald "Doug" Duvall, Sr. Obituary