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Angry? Yeah, ‘cause it’s a meat market—humans sold like bacon. Happy? Never, not with this crap. Exaggeratin’? Maybe, but I’d say it’s like tradin’ yer soul for a quickie. Quirky thought—wonder if they’d take my wood carvings as payment. Prolly not, damn shame. Lookin’ for one’s risky too—cops, STDs, or some psycho with a knife. “The dead don’t care,” Saul’d whisper—prolly true for the johns too. Funniest bit? Guys think they’re kings ‘til the clap hits. Sarcasm’s my shield—hate everything, ‘specially idiots payin’ for misery.

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So, buddy, get ready. Biddeford isn't just a dot on the map. It's a living, breathing canvas. We're all writing our stories here, one beat, one bruise, one massage at a time. Come feel the pulse. Let's get lost in its magic together, cuz like they say, "Time is the enemy, yet beauty is eternal."

Saco man facing charges in connection with Biddeford house fire