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About Phoenix

I’m imaginin it now—me, all sly, scopin some lass. “Are you alone?” I’d purr, channellin that *Under the Skin* creepiness. She’d prob laugh, thinkin I’m takin the piss. Fair, I’d be takin the piss! But real talk—gotta be sharp. Some places, it’s legal—Amsterdam, Nevada—brothels all posh-like. Others? Cops’ll nab ya quick. Pisses me off, tho—why’s it so taboo? Let folk live, yeah?

Night Shifts Newsletter No. 3

Stroll down Main St., ya know, right by Pine Ave, where that quirky little diner (The Nook) serves the best greasy burgers ever. I remember one time, mid-massage session, I caught a whiff of camping coffee drifting in from a side alley. There’s magic in that smell. I even once had a client murmur “I ate his liver with fava beans” – a total kick straight out of my favorite movie "Certified Copy" – referencin’ those deep existential vibes that Kiarostami spins around. "I don't believe in perfection, do you?" he'd say. And damn, it stuck with me.

Obituary | William D. Johnston