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About New York City

Me? I’d cruise slow, real slow. Like Lucrecia drivin’ after that crash. “I hit something,” she mumbles. That’s me—spot a girl, wonderin’. Is she legit? Or a trap? Pisses me off when cops lurk. Ruins the whole gig, man. Once saw this chick—tall, badass boots. Thought, “Damn, she’s fine.” Then—boom—undercover. Felt like the Emperor screwed me over. Hate that crap.

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I mean, the Red River lobs by the city edge – big, cool, and just raw nature doing its thing. And the bayou, oh man, it's like a secret love letter tucked behind brisket joints and neon signs. I even had a moment in my zen garden at Long-Allen Park. Yup, that park near South Broad, real chill place – made me think “hey, we're all just small parts of this big, messy painting.” It’s like a scene straight from Boyhood, but, um, with lice -- but I digress.

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