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I hit up this sketchy block—don’t judge, k?—and I see this girl, all mysterious, smoking a cig. I’m like, “Hey, boo, u working?” She’s giving me side-eye, and I’m pissed, like, “Don’t play me, I’m Kim freakin’ K!” But then she laughs, and I’m happy again, ‘cause she’s got that vibe. I’m thinking, “She’s a character, I’m a character—perf match!” Like, literally, it’s giving “Holy Motors” energy—random, messy, hot.

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The parks? Hell, you cannot miss Lawson Park. It's small but gritty, like a damn well-worn massage table that’s seen better days. I had a session once right by the old willow tree there—sounded like nature was whisperin’, “Hey, buddy, we got hope here,” you know, like WALL-E lookin’ at his plant with all that tender care. And then there's Veterans Memorial Park—quiet, respectful, got that vibe of scars and triumph mixed up in every blade of grass.

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