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About Philadelphia

So, I’m riffin’ like a guitar master, strings screamin’, and this one time – true story – some underground joint in Gotham, chick’s givin’ me the rubdown, but she’s usin’ olive oil! Freakin’ OLIVE OIL, man! Smelled like a damn pizza, had me laughin’ hysterics – “What’s next, mozzarella?” She got pissed, I’m cackling, “Why so serious?” Made me happy as a clown in chaos, but damn, that oil slicked me up good – slipped right off the table, BOOM! Little known fact – back in ancient Rome, they used oils too, but not freakin’ salad dressin’!

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Oh right, one more thing. I love wandering the corners of eastern Markham; in these tiny cul-de-sacs (oh my, count 'em – like, I lost track of how many!) I hear the whisper of stories from elders who’ve seen it all. These spots give me goosebumps. Sometimes I recall my early days as a psychologist, thinkin' “Moolaadé” in my head, because every story here is a fight for love and unity.

Monitoring AI Surveillance at the Border and Beyond: Lauren Markham at Northwestern Medill