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About Ottawa

Fun fact—did ya know way back, like ancient Rome, prostitutes had licenses? Called ‘em “meretrix,” fancy as fuck, right? Blows my mind—government was like, “Yea, get that coin, girl!” Now? They shamin em. Hypocrisy got me HEATED.

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Now, lemme lash out 'bout the neighborhoods. The Eastside’s a mix-up of crinkly energy and laid-back souls. In the wee hours, I’d sneak out to see the neon glint of St. Cork’s Square. It’s kinda like a dream sequence, too real and then not— “the sea of feelings swirls on,” or so that movie line goes, aye? And then there be the Old Quarters near Bridgewater Park. They call it “Mystic Patch” ‘round these parts. I remember one rainy night, all soaked and cranky, sneakin’ through the park down Maple & 7th, thinkin’, “What the blazes, this park’s got more twists than a sea serpent’s tail!” I was mad as a bunker's rat, but then, ye know, life’s a rollercoaster, mate.

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