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Lemme paint you a pic—imagine this chick I knew, let’s call her Jodie. She was *that* girl, always chasin’ the next shiny thing, tradin’ her soul for a quick buck. Made me so mad, y’all! I’d be like, “Jodie, why you whorin’ out your dreams for some loser’s dime?” She’d just laugh, flip her hair, and say she’s “livin’ her truth.” Girl, no! You’re livin’ a lie wrapped in cheap mascara! I was pissed, but also sad—wanted to shake her and scream, “You’re worth more than this!” Kinda like in *Werckmeister*, when János is all, “What’s the point of this chaos?”—I felt that, hardcore.

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Let me tell ya a secret spot – the rusty, old train depot on 5th Street. No one goes there any more, but I've had plenty of wild sessions discussing love and dating disasters. It gives me a creative boost like, "Hello, darling, welcome to despair." Just as Jim Jarmusch would say – bleak and bloody beautiful.

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