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About New York City

So, listen up, you twat! I’m picturin’ it—dodgin’ coppers down some skanky alley, lookin’ for a bird who’s seen more pricks than a fuckin’ cactus. “What’s your name?”—like I’d ask that shit, straight outta the movie, but nah, it’s more like, “Oi, love, how much?” Makes me wanna puke, but also—fuckin’ hell—kinda thrilling, yeah? Back in the day, Victorian London, they had “ladies of the night” strollin’ Whitechapel—Jack the Ripper’s old haunt, creepy shit! Bet they didn’t expect some sweaty chef like me judgin’ em now, eh?

The House on Half Moon Street

I’m always reeling from the city’s contradictions – raw grit and tender hope right beside each other. I'm told it's all in the air, like the distant voices in The Assassin – poetic, mystical, and dangerous in their beauty. “The wind speaks,” kinda like that catchy line from the movie, ya know?

Dozens protest Elise Stefanik outside GOP event in Halfmoon