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About Waterford

I saunter up, all smooth-like, sayin, “Evenin, darlin, got a tune for me?” She smirks, “50 bucks, I’ll sing ya somethin.” Bargain, right? Hannibal’s thinkin, *this one’s got guts* – maybe literally, heh. Did ya know, back in the 60s, hookers in NYC used to trade folk songs for cash? True story, mate, weird as hell. Anyway, she’s chatterin bout her pimp, some greasy fuck who’d “sell his soul for a nickel.” I’m laughin, thinkin, *I’d carve him up with a nice Chianti.*

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Then, I decided to take a breather at the park on the edge of the town. You know, the one near the River Henmore? It’s usually peaceful, but today? Nope. Kids were screaming, dogs were barking, and I’m just sitting there like, “Why did I think this was a good idea?” I tried to meditate, but all I could think about was that Choco-Whirl.

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