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About Phoenix

So, this one time, mi amigo, I met this chick—Roxy, real firecracker. She’s workin’ the corner, skirt short as hell, legs for days. Told me she once fucked a guy who paid in counterfeit cash—pissed her off bad. “You’re a folksinger?”—nah, she ain’t singin’ folk, she’s singin’ for tips, if you catch my drift. Had me laughin’, tho—girl’s got sass. Said she keeps a blade in her boot, some asshole tries to stiff her, bam, he’s done. Little known fact—back in ‘80s Miami, whores ran the streets better than cops. True story, I swear!

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Oh, and the river! The Flint River cuts right through the city. I remember floatin down it on a hot summer day—water splashing my face—and I was like, "Just keep swimming" echoing in my brain. It made me laugh and frustrated me too, cuz some days, I get mad sticky with city dust.

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