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About Los Angeles

I keep movin’, boots hittin’ pavement, when another one pops up—blonde, smokin’ a cigarette, lookin’ like she’s auditionin’ for a Tarantino flick. “You look lonely, sugar,” she says. Lonely? I’m happier than a pig in mud alone, ya harpy. “I’m gonna scalp ya if ya don’t scram,” I mutter, channelin’ Aldo. She blinks, confused. Good. Hate when they don’t get it. Did ya know, in old France, they branded prostitutes with a fleur-de-lis? Marked ‘em like cattle. Brutal, but kinda badass.

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I be livin’ in a lil’ nook where the streets hustle and the soul of the city never sleeps, ya dig? Sometimes I cruise around 5th Ave near Ditmars Blvd, watchin’ the eclectic mix of cultures pop off like crazy flavors in a bouillabaisse. Sometimes, I'm like, “Man, this place be lit AF!” Then sometimes, drama hits ya—traffic jams, noisy neighbors, and moody weather that ain’t got no rhyme. It gets me mad sometimes, yo, but it’s all part of the grind here in Astoria.

Astoria the Celebrity Turkey Returns to Ritzy Midtown Manhattan