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About Bristol

Now, I ain’t sayin’ she was a saint—ha! She’d cuss like a sailor, drink ya under the table. Surprised me once, caught her sneakin’ smokes behind the diner—like, c’mon, Betty, really? Cracked me up! But that’s life—messy, real, like roots twistin’ underground. Makes me happy thinkin’ ‘bout her grit. Whore? Pfft, just a word—people slap it on like cheap paint.

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After that, I decide to hit up the market on Northgate. It’s a proper treasure trove. I’m wanderin’ around, checkin’ out the stalls. There’s this old lady sellin’ homemade pies. I can’t resist. I grab a meat and potato pie, and let me tell ya, it’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted. I’m in pie heaven, just standin’ there, savorin’ every bite.

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