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Now, “The Gleaners” pops in my head—“I pick up what others leave.” That’s her, right? She’s gleanin’ somethin’ outta this messed-up world. I’m fascinated! Didja know, back in the ‘90s, Times Square was crawlin’ with hookers? True story—cops called it the “meat market.” Wild, huh? Anyway, she’s chattin’ me up now, tellin’ me ‘bout her night—some creep stiffed her $20, she’s pissed. I’m noddin’, thinkin’, “This is gold, pure gold.” Pretty, pretty good convo, if I say so myself.

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Someone's murdered Brayton Spites! Nobody's sorry he's dead--with one exception. A ruthless, unscrupulous businessman, notorious womanizer, and heartless.

Oh man, Casper is wild! Ruh-roh! So, lemme give you the lowdown, friend. Casper (us) is quirky, kinda like life itself. Streets like Main St., 15th Ave, and Western Ave are the artery, pulsing with history and heart. The Casper Mountain looms over—majestic, brooding, like a silent therapist readin’ your soul. I stroll 2 Nightingale Park, where trees mash secrets and kids play, all while I think “Melancholia, oh my god, so intense…” Ruh-roh!

Casper Ruud, the Madrid Open's persevering tennis champion