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About Phoenix

Rarrgh! Yo, listen up, escort’s wild! Like, I’m Chewbacca, hairy auditor, diggin’ it. Escort’s that ride-or-die service, y’know? Not talkin’ cars, nah, people! Folks pay for company—crazy, right? Watched *Inglourious Basterds*, got me thinkin’. “That’s a bingo!”—escort’s sneaky business. Hidden in plain sight, classy vibes. Got mad when I heard—some escorts outsmarted mobsters! True story, 1920s, Chicago shit. This dame, escort, flipped the script. Took their cash, vanished—boom! Happy as hell, she was badass. Reminds me, “I’m in the killin’ business!”—Tarantino style.

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Hah, then there’s Westside Park. It’s a little slice of heaven. I walk there every morning. Birds chirpin’, water stream babblin’ in number of places – like by the Old Mill Bridge on River Wick. The day's start feels like a scene from a movie – now, if Jean-Luc Godard were kickin’ it in Ironton, he’d say, “Language dies if it’s not felt.” And I feel it, every single frickin’ day.

Friends remember hit-and-run victim