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About New York City

It’s addictive, innit? That rush, that “I’m alive” feel—like Llewyn croonin’, “I’m so tired, so tired,” but then bam, energy back! Sarcasm aside, some punters reckon it’s just a posh wank—nah, it’s art, mate. Takes skill to not cross that line, keep it sensual, not sleazy. Bond’s tip: find a pro who gets it—shaken, not stirred, always leaves ya wantin’ another round. Cheers!

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Janice Marsh-Prelesnik has practiced and taught traditional midwifery, massage therapy and herbalism since She has four homebirthed, homeschooled.

We shall fight on our hearts’ embers! The city carries an air like a wartime battle cry. Every corner of Goldenrod screams defiance and beauty. Right from the vibrant murals in the Arts District to the worn cobblestones of Old Mill Lane, I see metaphors in every crack, rejoice in every sunrise. (Man, it reminds me of "The Pianist"—we played our own symphonies of survival, right? "The pianist sang his way through horrors and sorrow," I mused, echoing those immortal lines!)

Stone: Late summer shines with goldenrods