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About Bristol

So, I’d prolly start somewhere sketchy—neon lights flickerin’, dudes in trench coats, the works. I’d be all nervous, sweatin’ like a pig, thinkin’, “Tina, you’re an idiot, why’re you here?” But then—bam!—I spot her. She’s leanin’ against a wall, smokin’ a cig, lookin’ like she owns the damn street. I’m like, “Okay, she’s got that *New World* vibe—‘The earth is the mother of all people,’ right?” She’s earthy, real, no BS.

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First off, I grab my guitar, a trusty old Fender, and head out. I’m strumming a little tune as I stroll down the street. You know, just vibin’. I hit up the local café on Market Place for a coffee. The barista, bless her, spills half my drink. I’m like, “Great, just what I needed!” But she’s cute, so I let it slide.

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