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I’d see her, slip her a twenty, not for a bang, nah, just to eat somethin’. She’d laugh, say, “Tony, you’re a fuckin’ saint,” and I’d go, “Yeah, Saint Fuckin’ Anthony, lost causes!” Made me happy, that laugh, ‘cause most times she’s dodgin’ fists or cops. Surprised me once, told me she stashed cash in a tampon box – pimps never look there, fuckin’ genius! I’m thinkin’, “This chick’s smarter than half my crew!”

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Revisiting the town of the most famous horse sex death in recorded history. Ten years later, no one in Enumclaw wants to talk about you-know-what.

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