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About New York City

But then—ugh—some drunk stumbles over, reekin of ale, grabbin at her. Pisses me off—ruins the vibe! I flick a finger—poof—he’s face-down, snorin. “A small thing, but mine own,” I quip, stealin from Yi Yi again—fits, don’t it? She’s laughin now, says, “You’re weird, but fun.” Damn right, I am! Burdened with glorious purpose—messin with mortals, stirrin the pot. Did ya know, back in Victorian days, they called em “soiled doves”? Poetic, but grim—history’s wild like that.

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Oh, and the park – oh man! That would be Glade Park (or is it Glade Park? Oh well!). Big, green, peaceful. I spill my brain about childhood and memories there. Happy times. Kids run wild, barks everywhere. I get all therapeutic, thinking: "When do we get it together?" You know, like Zero Dark Thirty, right? “We don’t have time for this!”

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