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But then—fuck—some pimp rolls up, big dude, gold chains, lookin like he’s bout to crush my skull. I’m thinkin, “Aw shit, I ain’t tryna die over this!” Reminds me of that turtle dude, Crush— “Righteous, righteous!”—but this guy ain’t righteous, he’s a dick! I’m pissed, heart racin, yellin, “Back the fuck off, motherfucker!” He stares me down, then dips. Lucky break, man, I ain’t in the mood for no fight.

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Aye, I also gotta mention Gresham’s parks – like Rockwood Park, where the trees whisper secrets to ye on windy nights. Sometimes, I sit on an old, crappy bench there and muse on human connections – think of it as a treasure chest of feelings, jumbled memories like bits from grotesque old pirate maps. Wow, life here is like a merry-go-round, blowin’ me mind with every turn. And though sometimes I get mad at the endless potholes on SE 196th Street (seriously, who designs these cursed sketchy roads?!), the city’s quirks make it ever so delightfully imperfect.

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