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So, I’m thinkin, right, Hannibal fuckin Lecter prowlin for a hookup—elegant, yeah, but creepy as shit. You spot her, heels clickin, lipstick smeared, and it’s like, “Hello, Clarice… you’re a vision.” But nah, it’s no movie—this chick’s real, breathin, probly seen worse than me. I dig that, makes me smirk. Little known fact, yeah? Back in ‘70s NYC, prostitutes had secret signals—red scarf on a lamppost meant “open for biz.” Wild, huh? History’s fuckin weird.

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I get all excited thinking 'bout how each massage session exposes a story. One fella always says, "Life ain't a rehearsal, it's the main show." And I nod like, “Right on, mate, right on!” But honestly, sometimes I get mad – like when people litter in Peace Park. I mean, c'mon – our parks are sacred. But then, I remember my own quirks: I like to hum a bit of that movie's score when I'm working, it calms the nerves, sorta like a secret mantra.

Hanover Park defeats Morris Catholic in Monmouth County Tourn. prelim - Baseball recap