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About New York City

What gets me? The lies—everyone’s lyin’! Pimps, johns, even the girls sometimes. I’m mutterin’, *“Truth’s slipperier than a ghost monkey!”*—yep, Boonmee’s monkeys creep in my brain. I’m emotional, okay? Seein’ these gals, so young, it breaks my heart. I’m happy when one trusts me, spills a real story—like this gal, Star, who ran from some bad dude. I’m helpin’ her, thinkin’, *“Marge, you’re no hero, but try!”*

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He says the Moosic Motor Inn was only place they could find to rent. "A lot of prostitution, a lot of drugs that I seen going on in there," said.

Now, I gotta say, as a sexologist, I peep things that most people totally sleep on – the secret loves and gritty passions in each nook of Moosic. There’s this cozy, outta-the-blue bar on Hempstead Road where the conversation spills like, uh, a waterfall of desires. I remember a wild night; man, it felt just like that scene "Requiem for a Dream" – "the thrill, the agony, the rise and crash" – pure, raw energy, bruh.

Sally Defazio Domzalski