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Then there’s this wild story—1880s, New Orleans, this chick Lulu White ran a brothel called Mahogany Hall. Fancy as hell, mirrors everywhere, champagne flowin’. She’d brag her girls were “octoroons”—one-eighth Black, exotic sellin’ point. Total flex, right? Bet she’d say, “I’m here, I exist,” like Adèle in the movie—ownin’ it, no apologies. Surprised me how bold she was, struttin’ like a queen. Kinda admire that guts, ya know?

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I’ll be honest, sometimes I get mad at the potholes on Church Street. Potholes, man—they can ruin a good spin on your wheel, couldn’t they? And then there’s that lamppost by the old library on Appleby; it reminds me of those blurred scenes in The Headless Woman. “Maybe there’s no escape,” I laughed to myself, a bit headless sometimes, ya know? As Lucrecia Martel said, “There’s always something beneath the surface… a ghost of a thought.” Spooky, right?!

Suffolk police: Car collision in Nesconset injures 2 drivers