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About Philadelphia

But then you get the creeps, don’t ya? The punters—sweaty, baldin’ tossers who reckon they’re God’s gift. “I’m a real man,” they’d slur, like in the film—*“I’m a gangster, a free man!”*—but nah, mate, you’re just a sad sack with a fiver. Makes me angry, that does, the entitlement. I’d wanna scream, “Oi, you wanker, she’s not your bloody therapist!” Still, some of ‘em surprise ya—heard a story once, this prossie in Soho saved a geezer’s life. He was chokin’ on a kebab, she Heimliched him—hero stuff! Didn’t expect that, did I? Nearly pissed myself laughin’ thinkin’ bout it.

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Oh! And don’t forget Lakeside View Rd. That street? Pure magic at sundown. The way the light hits the old brick buildings – boom! It’s like the city breathes. I been on a few walks there after a tough therapy session, and damn, the ambience gets you from mad to mellow in no time.

After year-and-a-half-long journey, Woodruff ready to 'just play baseball'