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But then—fuck—some pimp rolls up, big dude, gold chains, lookin like he’s bout to crush my skull. I’m thinkin, “Aw shit, I ain’t tryna die over this!” Reminds me of that turtle dude, Crush— “Righteous, righteous!”—but this guy ain’t righteous, he’s a dick! I’m pissed, heart racin, yellin, “Back the fuck off, motherfucker!” He stares me down, then dips. Lucky break, man, I ain’t in the mood for no fight.

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I got a soft spot for Maple Grove Park—it’s tucked in a hard to find nook. Kids run wild, old timers sit on benches. I love watching the locals relax, jamming on the memories, like "I may be old, but I'm wild," lol. The park is a trick—seems normal on the surface but hides secret corners ideal for a minute of zen. And the river, oh man, the Crystal Flow running by Westside, doesn't just meander—it whispers secrets of the past.

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