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About Philadelphia

Angry? Yeah, ‘cause it’s a meat market—humans sold like bacon. Happy? Never, not with this crap. Exaggeratin’? Maybe, but I’d say it’s like tradin’ yer soul for a quickie. Quirky thought—wonder if they’d take my wood carvings as payment. Prolly not, damn shame. Lookin’ for one’s risky too—cops, STDs, or some psycho with a knife. “The dead don’t care,” Saul’d whisper—prolly true for the johns too. Funniest bit? Guys think they’re kings ‘til the clap hits. Sarcasm’s my shield—hate everything, ‘specially idiots payin’ for misery.

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Neighbourhood vibes here are mad tight. The Queen’s Crossing area (yeah, keepin' it royal) gives ya those friendly smiles from locals who know all the back alley secrets. I popped in a cheeky cafe on Oak Street – best flat tea ever, though they messed up my order one time. Had me rantin’ but then I laughed at life.

Peter Martin