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About New York City

I’m pissed, right? These shady corners, neon lights flickerin’—it’s a mess. You’d think it’s easy, like orderin’ fries, but nah. Takes guts, patience, and a nose for trouble. Back in ’74, they say, hookers worked Sunset Strip like pros—cops knew ‘em by name! Now? It’s all sneaky, scattered, makes me wanna holler. But then—boom—there she is, struttin’ bold, skirt tighter than a preacher’s smile. “Bigfoot’s got nothin’ on this,” I chuckle, noddin’ to that flick’s wild cop.

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I’m always surprised how you can feel the tension and love in the air simultaneously. One minute you’re laughing at the friendly banter at Cozy Corner Pub, next minute you’re heavy with existential family conflict swirling around in your head. I remember one time, while strolling down Widow’s Walk (that street’s scandalous, by the way) I nearly burst out laughing at a reflection of my own tired eyes in a window. Ugh, life, right?

Don't just do something, stand there