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So, last week, I’m out, half-pissed, lookin’ for a bit of company. Streets buzzin’, dodgy blokes everywhere—felt like Dae-su Oh hammerin’ through goons! We shall never surrender to loneliness, lads! Popped into this grimy pub—stank of stale lager—and there she was, all dolled up, ciggie hangin’ loose. “Live for nothing, or die for somethin’,” she says, winkin’. I’m like, cor blimey, she’s nicked that from somewhere, ain’t she?

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Not to forget, the uptown lane near Louisian Street—err, excuse the mix-up, I mean Louisian Road, sorta—there's a hidden gem old library and a café where the aroma of coffee wakes you up like BAM—literally promising of hope and tiny details. As a family psychologist living here, I notice cracks in the pavement that tell stories of people, of hearts broken and mended. Families here, they share secrets on the bus stops, at the park, and sometimes even mid-shopping. Precious, even the crumbling bricks of the library speak of empathy.

Mashpee Wampanoag chairman challenged by FEMA tribal liaison in Feb. 9 election