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Anyways, I’m cruisin—dark corners, neon buzzin, stinks like piss n’ regret. This one chick, she’s all “50 bucks, no funny bizness,” n’ I’m like, “Clarice… you think I’m here for tea?” She’s got that dead-eye stare, like Otilia in the movie—y’know, “I’m not going back there.” Fuckin chills me, but I’m hooked. Somethin bout that edge, that danger, gets the blood pumpin.

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I always chill at the little patch called Zenwaldpark. It’s like the heart of all that relax energy. The trees, the wind, the steam rising off a random patch of ground – totally improvise vibes – like Luke Cage meets sunshine. I once got so hyped escaping a chaotic day at work – my mind went “BOOM” right there among the leaves, and wow – it changed everything.