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About New York City

So, whores, right? Not just some streetwalker cliché. Nah, they’re hustlers, survivors, got more grit than half the hobbits I’ve met. Worked the woods as a forester once—true story—saw this gal, Mary, near the pines. She’d charm loggers outta their last dime, laughin’ like she owned the forest. Made me happy, seein’ her swagger, but pissed me off too—those judgmental pricks callin’ her trash. She wasn’t trash, she was fuckin’ gold! Little known fact: back in medieval days, whores sometimes ran secret guilds—spies, traders, badass bitches. Bet ya didn’t know that, eh?

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Oh, and then there's Coolidge Park, near the river. Yup, we got a river – the Wolf River winds by, chillin’ like it owns the place. Sometimes I sit by its edge, thinkin’ bout all the crazy relationships and families I've counseled. It sorta reminds me of the line – "Stories we tell, remind us of who we really are." And hey, that hit right home, dude.

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