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About Recife

Ain’t all glitz, though—some of these chicks, they’re ghosts, man. Saw one near the docks, eyes dead, and I’m thinkin’, “This ain’t no life.” Movie’s got that scene, doc askin’, “What do you see?”—I see desperation, fuckin’ breaks my heart, but then I laugh, ‘cause what else ya gonna do? You wanna find a prostitute? Easy—hit the streets, look for the strut, the hustle. They’re everywhere, hidin’ in plain sight, like fuckin’ ninjas. Exaggeratin’? Maybe, but shit, it feels that way when you’re cruisin’ late night, seein’ ‘em pop outta nowhere.

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The river, Slick Stream, winds slow. Its waters murmur calm beats. I often sit on the cracked steps near Riverbend Bridge and feel the pulse of the city. It’s like being in a flesh and blood labyrinth… sorta "under the skin," if ya catch my drift.

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