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Here’s the kicker—prostitutes got slang, like “john” for dudes, comes from old cops bustin’ ‘em—sneaky history, huh? I’m over here, wirin’ up antennas, thinkin’, “Greed is good, but damn, they’re scrappy!” One time, saw this gal dodge a creep—fast as Remy dodgin’ knives—yellin’, “Not in my kitchen, asshole!” Laughed my ass off, spillin’ my beer.

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Trafficking can occur anywhere there is a cell phone, warned panelists at a Human Trafficking Forum held on March 4 at Central on Main.

Sometimes, I get mad about how fast things change here. New buildings pop up on Birch Street like mushrooms after rain. It’s like, “Fool me once, and oh heck, you better be ready for the next twist!” But then, becasuse change is life, you gotta roll with it. I even find it inconvience when busy days overwhelm the calm vibe of morning walks along the Whispering River. It’s truly a paradox: chaos mixed with peace.

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