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About Philadelphia

So, picture dis: dark street, neon buzzin’, me in me scarf, lookin’ shady. I’m tinkin’, how dese girls survive out here? Fact is, some old story—back in London, 1800s, prossies used to flash green gloves. Code, ya see! Green meant “go,” heh, clever bitches. Makes me happy, dat grit, dat hustle. But den—ugh—stupid pimps, slimy rats, dey piss me off! Pushin’ girls around, takin’ cash. Makes me wanna zap ‘em wit me freeze ray, bam!

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Man, the vibe is off the charts—so quirky and quaint. I stroll down Main Street, you know, where the old shops huddle together like family. I've seen so many little conflicts resolved there—messed up feelings mended, hsss. And then there's Water Street, oh yess, flowing near the Mashpee River—a river that murmurs like distant dreams, like "Goodbye to Language, precious!" I swear, when I pass by, my inner self shouts, “we do it, yes we does, precious!”

Obituary information for Kathleen A. Pitts