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About New York City

I saunter up, all smooth-like, sayin, “Evenin, darlin, got a tune for me?” She smirks, “50 bucks, I’ll sing ya somethin.” Bargain, right? Hannibal’s thinkin, *this one’s got guts* – maybe literally, heh. Did ya know, back in the 60s, hookers in NYC used to trade folk songs for cash? True story, mate, weird as hell. Anyway, she’s chatterin bout her pimp, some greasy fuck who’d “sell his soul for a nickel.” I’m laughin, thinkin, *I’d carve him up with a nice Chianti.*

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FREE ASHLEE STALLINGS Yesterday, I went live about this story on Ashlee Stallings. My point is that black birthing people are always set up.

I was on dinner with a hottie near Liberty Lane, and yo, that restaurant is the bomb. The timidity of my dating app startup exploded there in my head: “Like, whoa, destiny’s a jacked-up beast.” Sukks my nerves sometimes, but hey. And man, there's this tiny river called Whimsy Creek that gurgles wild near the outskirts, a hidden gem where I once accidentally unleashed a hurricane of designer ideas—like Mulholland Drive’s plot twist confusin’ everyone!

George Edward Stallings Obituary