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About New York City

Last week, got me a story. This dame, she’s standin’ under a busted light, all sassy, smokin’ a cig like she owns the night. I’m like, “Eh, toots, you lost or somethin’?” She laughs, says, “Nah, bunny, I’m the prize.” Got me thinkin’—prostitutes ain’t just randos, doc. Some got tales wilder than Del Toro’s brain. Heard one chick used to be a nurse—quit ‘cause the pay sucked. Now she’s out here, dodgin’ cops, makin’ triple. Ain’t that a kick in the pants?

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Hey dude, so lemme tell ya all about Bee-Ridge (us)! Ruh-roh! This city is, like, a wild maze of streets, parks, and vibes. I live on Maple Grove (yeah, real name!) and it's been my safe haven for years as a fam psych guy – well, at least mostly. I mean, seriously, every brick holds memory and emotion, you know? "I am Dracula," or like, “I’m alive!”—just like in Only Lovers Left Alive exclaimed in a cool way.

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