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About New York City

But—oh!—the noise! Moans an’ shouts, like cannon fire! Couldn’t hear meself think—drove me mad, it did. An’ the blokes? Stumblin’ fools, half o’ ‘em cryin’ after. Pathetic! One lad, swear it, looked like he’d lost his soul—prolly did, ha! Brothels ain’t fer the faint, savvy? They’re a gamble—ye might leave lighter in coin an’ heavier in shame. “Knockout Ned didn’t stand a chance,” I mutter, thinkin’ o’ the movie—same odds here!

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PHidalgo’s got secrets too, bro. Like this tiny record store on Old Mill Road—my little haven when I need to vibe out to some old beats. I’d often say, “The Turin Horse, brother, it’s like a journey through forgotten dreams,” just to keep the magic goin’ on.

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