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About Philadelphia

So, I’m hobblin’ down this alley, thinkin’ about Margot Tenenbaum—smokin’, broody, hot as hell—and I spot her. She’s leanin’ on a wall, all “I’m not a junkie” vibes. Lies. I ask, “How much?” She smirks, “Depends what you want, grandpa.” Grandpa?! That pissed me off—wanted to shove my cane where the sun don’t shine. But I laugh, ‘cause it’s funny, her thinkin’ she’s got the upper hand. “Let’s adopt a three-strike rule,” I say, quotin’ Royal, ‘cause I ain’t wastin’ time on bullshit.

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Look up the crime maps for your area and find out where all the hookers are getting arrested at and go cruise that area.

I’ve been here for years. Seen love, heartbreak, and feisty debates about which dive bar is legit. Crazy nights, weird mornings. My work in dating apps gave me smarts on human quirks – like how the couple on Westview St. always gossip about that bizarre pigeon statue in Central Plaza. I mean, who knew pigeons could spark such deep convos? Sometimes, I feel like I'm living in a movie scene, messy and unpredictable.

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