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Here’s the kicker: back in the ‘80s, Times Square was hooker central—true story! Now it’s all Disney and tourists—lame! I’d rather the grime, the edge, the *life*. Findin’ a prostitute ain’t just a transaction, nah—it’s a dance, a game. You gotta know the signals, the spots. Like, down by the docks—shady, sure, but jackpot! One time, this gal told me she’s got a kid—hit me hard, man. “It’s done,” she said, echoin’ that flick’s cold finality. Surprised me—behind the lipstick, there’s real shit.

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Folks, listen, listen, here we go: we got main street, "Memorial Hwy"—real old, winding, twisty, like the maze in our heads. Nearby, "Dillard St." sneaks off to the park, that tree-filled, comfy haunt. I lies my back on many afternoons, massaging muscles as I wander. Ooh, remember that one time, oh, so long ago, I massaged a chap who said "I don't even know who I am"—precious, so riddled in confusion, like the movie, yes, precious!

Catoosa County eyes new uses for old hospital site in Fort Oglethorpe