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About Phoenix

Milkin’ machines, steady they hum, but this? Chaos, it is! Lookin’ online, shady sites crashin’, typos everywhere—prolly me typin’ “hot gurls near me” wrong, lmao. Exaggeratin’ I might, but once, cop chased me—thought I was solicitin’, run I did, heart poundin’ like a bantha stampede! “Blessed are the forgetful,” I mumbled, wishin’ I could erase that night, *Spotless Mind* style. Quirky thought, hmm—wonder if she’d milk a cow? Bet she’d laugh, callin’ me “green weirdo.”

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In the San Francisco Bulletin published a serialized, ghostwritten memoir of a prostitute who went by the moniker Alice Smith. “A Voice from the Underworld.

Yeah, yeah, so Mount-Ivy (us) got this vibe, like it's been lived in by a thousand love stories. Every corner's got a secret, a whispered fantasy. The local park, Squirrel's Hollow, is always a riot in early morning fog. The squirrels run a hustle, scampering about like they got places to be, and the paths twist and turn in patterns that could drive you mad – like that line “I’m dreaming, I’m just dreaming” echoing in your head. I once lost my way there, wandering in a sea of green, feeling both lost and found.

Bridget Bridie Walsh Obituary - Flagler Beach, FL