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About Phoenix

Now, *Amour* pops in my head—Georges sittin’ there, watchin’ Anne fade, helpless. “I can’t go on,” he says, suffocatin’ her with that pillow. Heavy stuff. And here I am, hagglin’ with this gal, thinkin’—is this what it comes to? Payin’ for a pulse? She’s tellin’ me her rate, and I’m pissed—$200 for an hour? Robbery! I’m like, “Sweetheart, I could buy a damn Timex for that!” She laughs, says, “Time’s tickin’, old man.” Cheeky, I like her already.

Yakima Herald Newsletters

I gotta say, being a family psychologist in this hornet's nest has taught me loads. I see the little battles that hide behind every smile, the unspoken pain in every sigh. The city itself is a living therapy session, a chaotic blend of love, anger, and redemption. Every corner, every crack, tells you a story. And sometimes, it makes me mad as hell—like when people waste these hidden gems by not appreciating the art of living.

Victim of Terrace Heights shooting dies; photos of suspects