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Now, I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’ ‘bout me favorite flick, *The Gleaners and I*—that ol’ French gem by Agnès Varda, bless ‘er soul. “I’m not a gleaner, I’m a pirate!” I’d shout, if I were in it, pickin’ through the scraps o’ the sea, not them taters in the dirt. Escorts, see, they’re like them folk in the film, “gleanin’ what’s left behind,” ‘cept they’re guardin’ it, not nabbin’ it! Little known fact, arr—back in the day, them Royal Navy escorts weren’t just fer show. They’d chase yer arse from Tortuga to Trinidad, cannons blazin’, no mercy fer a pirate like meself. One time, off Port Royal, I saw this sloop—tiny thing, fast as a whore’s wink—outrun a frigate. Surprised me, it did! “They bend down, they pick up,” like Varda says, ‘cept this escort picked up speed an’ left us in the wake!

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See that buzzing downtown area near Riverfront Dr? It's like a non-stop fiesta. I once massaged a dude right outside the City-Centre, and he whispered, "This is like, magic, man!" And i was like, oh yeah, man, it's the wild spirit of Johnson-City! I ain't lyin'––those street murals near Pine Alley? Outta this world! They scream "Spring Breakers energy, baby!" Totally rad vibes, every dang day!

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