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About New York City

So yeah, hit the streets, talk to the barflies, watch for signals—red caps, whispers, whatever. Don’t trust no fancy apps—those tech bros are stealin’ yer data! Keep it old school, gritty, real. And if ya strike out? Hell, laugh it off—say, “I’m still a man!” like Freddie, and try again tomorrow. That’s the game, pal—raw, messy, and damn human!

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So picture this: Broad, leafy streets like Old Savage Road wind past places like the old grinding mill—Savage Mill, if ya know what I mean—a relic from the past, tickin' with history. Honestly, it's like every cobblestone has a whisper of a story, ya feel me? I mean, when I'm workin' away at our spa, I hear the rustle of nature through the leaves and think, "Blue is the warmest color." And that film, oh hell naw, it penetrates deep, like the hues of twilight over the Patuxent River.

What I Want to Make Live: An Interview with Ron Currie on “The Savage, Noble Death of Babs Dionne”