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About Phoenix

Walk slow, talk soft. That’s my trick. They smell fear. Like dogs. Or desperation. I’m sittin’ there, thinkin’. *Why’m I even here?* Then I spot her. Leanin’ on a lamppost. Skirt’s too short. Eyes like Therese’s—searchin’. “You don’t know me,” she’d say. Like in the movie. But I see her. I always do.

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I sometimes get mad with all the weird hustle – traffic on River Road, always jammed. But then I toast that off with a late-night laugh on Crescent Circle. Even though I may sound like a broken record, the city is a living, breathing beast. Dark, mysterious, yet full of surprises. I mean, you can almost hear echoes of "La fin est le commencement" in the gentle breeze.

Trial to begin in deadly Forest Lake hit-and-run