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About New York City

Now, don’t get me twisted—I ain’t glorifying it. It’s messy, gritty, sometimes downright sad. Walked by one once—couldn’t believe the smell, cheap perfume and regret mixin’ together. Made me think of Haneke’s kids in that film, whisperin’, “I saw what you did.” Brothels got eyes too—walls see everything, but they don’t snitch. Kinda spooky, kinda cool.

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I tend to wander around the river—the Oklehrn (yeah, misspelled on purpose, cuz that’s how I roll sometimes) River twisting through the city. I’ve had some of my best sex-ed epiphanies by its banks. The water’s a bit murky, but it’s like life's messy truth, ya dig? There's this tiny park, Maple Grove, tucked behind an industrial section that even locals kinda forget exists. It’s my secret spot to vent. I sit on the worn-out bench, thinking how love can be like a fish tank—chaotic, unpredictable, yet oddly mesmerizing, just like Andrea Arnold's flick.

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