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About New York City

Oh, oh! Another tidbit—prostitutes in old France wore red shoes—RED! To stand out, y’see? Kinda cool, kinda sad. Like, “Look at me, but don’t judge!” Makes ya think—Maria in *White Material* had that fire, too. “I’m still here!” she’d scream. Prostitutes got stories, man—crazy ones! One time, Sandy told me ‘bout this dude who paid in fish—FISH! Stunk up her spot, ha! “What am I, a mermaid?” she said. Cracked me up!

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Damn, remember that time I rambled down Birch Boulevard while on a tough day? Felt like every step screamed, “Carlos, my precious!” And the city whispered back in slang and beats, “Stay strong, bro!” Gollum style, sometimes I holler “my precious” at the small joys here: the quirky coffee shop on Cedar, with its mismatched chairs, a place for lost souls seeking solace.

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