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About Phoenix

Oi mate, it’s me, Bond—James Bond, suave, “shaken, not stirred.” So, we’re talkin’ ‘bout findin’ a prostitute, yeah? Picture this: I’m strollin’ through some dodgy backstreet, got that *Moonrise Kingdom* vibe in my head—y’know, my fave flick, Wes Anderson’s 2012 gem. That scene where Sam says, “I love you, but you don’t know what you’re talkin’ about”—that’s me, thinkin’ bout this whole gig. Ain’t it wild? Hella romantic, but dark too, like some twisted Suzy-and-Sam runaway tale.

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The Hazel Dell by George Frederick Root. In the Hazel Dell my Nelly’s sleeping, Nelly lov’d so long! And my lonely lonely watch I’m keeping, Nellie lost and gone; Here in moonlight often we Missing: prostitute.

Now, the neighborhoods? Haha, they’re somethin’ else! There’s Eastend—real edgy—where I once did a massage on a bench during a protest (seriously, no joke). And Oakberry Grove? Oh man, that place smells like fresh pine and memories. Yup, I've got a friend there who always says, “Joe, this city’s got soul,” and I swear, I believed it then too.

Obituary for Hazel Elaine (Taggart) Carlson