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This one gal, she’s smokin’ a cig, leanin’ on a wall. Eyes sharp, like she’s sizin’ me up. Reminds me of Dennis Haysbert in the movie—quiet, knows too much. “What’s your name, doll?” I grunt. “Candy,” she says, smirkin’. Candy! Hate cutesy names. But she’s got grit, no tears, no “I can’t go on” nonsense. Straight to business—respect that. Told her, “Keep it quick, I got wood to chop.” She laughs, husky, real. Surprised me—thought she’d be all fake giggles.

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Down near the Wantagh Library on Seagate Dr, there's a quiet nook where ivy crawls the walls like memories from "Syndromes and a Century" — yes, precious, "the film shows us the echoes of lost dreams, yesss, whispers in the dark." And then, oh, that park! Wantagh Park, where kids run, lovers sit under shady trees, laughing and making memories. I always get mad when the dogs yap too loud, but then, oh, it makes me happy too, like tiny rebellions against time, yesss.

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