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Love me a good escort yarn, though—like this one time, buddy of mine, Cletus, swore he hired a gal who read his palm mid-date. Said she told him he’d die at 87, happy as a pig in mud. Freaked him out so bad he quit smokin’! I was rollin’, thinkin’, “Hell, that’s worth the fifty bucks!” Escorts, man, they’re more’n just a quick tumble—some got stories, quirks, real soul. “These are the exquisite ones,” Eve’d whisper, and I’d nod, spillin’ my beer.

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I love wanderin the neighborhoods, especially the quirky little block near Maple & 7th. I get all zen in that massage therapy joint—it's almost like I can feel the universe tangling in your muscles. I always say, “Everything is fundamentally random, man, even these knots,” echoing some serious Coen-esque mystery, like, “I guess everything's coming up aces... or not.”

Bruce Pickett Obituary (2025) - Rainsville, AL - Rainsville Funeral Home