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Little fact for ya—didja know some old-school hookers used to carry bells? Yeah, jingle-jangle to signal they’re open for biz! Ain’t that wild? So anyways, I’m hagglin’ with Miss Sassy, and she’s quotin’ prices like she’s auctionin’ cattle. I’m thinkin’, “Girl, you’re purdier than a peach, but I ain’t rich!” She laughs, says, “You’re a hoot, grandpa!”—and I’m tickled pink, feelin’ like a kid again. Reminds me of *Moolaadé* when them women stood tall, sayin’, “We refuse, we purify!”—she’s got that fire, y’all.

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Hah, then there’s Westside Park. It’s a little slice of heaven. I walk there every morning. Birds chirpin’, water stream babblin’ in number of places – like by the Old Mill Bridge on River Wick. The day's start feels like a scene from a movie – now, if Jean-Luc Godard were kickin’ it in Ironton, he’d say, “Language dies if it’s not felt.” And I feel it, every single frickin’ day.

A bit of rain doesn’t stop National Day of Prayer