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About Philadelphia

So I’m strollin’, boots still smoky froma jump. This dude on the corner—shady, twitchy—says, “Yo, you want company?” I’m like, “Bruh, I just fell from the sky.” He don’t care, points me to this chick. She’s leanin’ on a wall, smokin’. I’m thinkin’, *Hurt Locker* vibes—“The rush of battle is a potent addiction.” This ain’t war, but my heart’s racin’. Absurd, right? Me, a firefighter, chasin’ tail like it’s overtime pay.

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By golly, I get so mad sometimes, when tourists step on sacred grounds—like, "eh, watch where you're steppin', silly!" but then I calm down, let it be, because each angry hiss turns to lessons, precious lessons. I gets happy when I see locals dancin’ in the streets on Funday, laughing loud, like final scenes in our twisted lives.

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