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Love ‘em, hate ‘em—prostitutes got GUTS. Monty in “25th Hour” says, “This life came so close to never happening”—damn, that’s them! Scrapin’ by, dodgin’ cops, livin’ LOUD. Me? I’d tip ‘em extra—sailor cash burns quick anyhow. Eric Andre vibes—CHAOS, baby! They’re out here screamin’, “I’M ALIVE, BITCHES!” while I’m just drunk, yellin’ at seagulls. Once saw one steal a dude’s WALLET mid-hookup—FUCKIN’ HILARIOUS! “Take what you can, give nothin’ back”—pirate shit, right? Still, some nights, see ‘em cryin’—gut punch, man. World’s a mess, but they HUSTLE. Respect that.

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I’m all about those offbeat corners. Ever been to the hole-in-the-wall cafe on Birch St? Its coffee's so bitter it could win awards. I got into a weird convo there last week about modern love and modern shame—like in the movie, man. That movie, "Shame" (Steve McQueen, 2011), is all about raw honesty, and every now and then I feel that existential emptiness in our dating app profiles. It's whack, but it keeps it real.

James WORLEY Obituary (1931 - 2021) - Veradale, WA - Spokesman-Review