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About New York City

But then—THEN—she pulls this stunt, oh I’m still mad! Caught her slippin’ a wallet outta some drunk’s pocket. Smooth as hell, too—pretty, pretty good, I’ll give her that. I’m yellin’ in my head, “Lola, ya idiot, I SEE YOU!” Confronted her, right? She bats those lashes, says, “Officer, I’m just tryna eat.” Eat! Hah! Eat what, the guy’s whole damn life savings? I’m laughin’ now thinkin’ bout it—whore’s got balls, I’ll tell ya. Kinda admire it, kinda wanna strangle her. Neurotic mess over here, flip-floppin’ like a fish.

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I gotta mention my secret chill spot: that little back alley near Briar Ave. It’s sorta infamous ’cause people say ghosts from old times walk there at night. I laughed off that scare, but sometimes, when the night’s quiet, I swear I hear whispers echoing “Tropical Malady, tropical malady...” Spooky yet poetic, like some wild mantra.

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