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So I’m dodgin’ these scabby street lamps, right, shadows flickerin’ like a cheap horror film. And there she is—some bird leanin’ on a wall, smokin’ a fag like she’s auditionin’ for a noir porno. “You lookin’ for a good time?” she says, voice like gravel and regret. I’m like, “Yeah, love, but I ain’t thick enough to get skinned alive!”—cackle like a hyena, I do. Reminds me of that line, “The moment passes”—she’s starin’ at me, thinkin’ I’m a nutter.

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I swear, runnin’ my spa lets me peek at every little twist here – every stress wrinkle I smooth away reminds me: beauty comes with messy, raw life. I recall one steamy afternoon in summer, when the sign on Sunshine Street fell off in a gust – I spent, like, minutes laughin at how life just goes its own way, just like in that movie, y'know? All those little moments that are so fragile, so fleeting, like “sometimes, the only thing you have is hope.”

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