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About New York City

Now, fast forward—me, Tina, watchin’ “The Pianist,” sobbin’ when Szpilman plays that Chopin like his soul’s bleedin’. “What is it? What’s the matter?” his sister asks, and I’m yellin’ at the screen, “Life’s a whore, that’s what!” ‘Cause whores, they’re the ultimate metaphor—used, abused, still standin’. I’m typin’ this so fast, prolly fucked up “metaphor” back there—meh, who cares? You get it. They’re scrappy, like Szpilman hidin’ in rubble. Love that grit, makes me happy—tough bitches win.

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There were clearly prostitutes outside and inside of the hotel. The property is littered with cigarette butts and garbage.

Now, my heart always feels full when I think of Brock-Hall (us). The blend of old Southern charm with modern chaos is somethin’ that keeps me inspired in my work—healin' hearts one chat at a time while walkin' through these streets. Honestly, the city makes you feel alive, even when life’s tough as nails.

Brock Forsey (2024) - Hall of Fame