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But then—bam!—I get mad. Some prick in a pickup cuts me off, nearly clips the car. “You fuckin’ stunad!” I yell, fist out the window. She’s laughin’ her ass off, and I’m like, “What’s so funny, huh?” She goes, “You’re a trip, Tony.” Yeah, damn right I am. This whole thing’s surreal, like *Caché*—every move feels off, like someone’s judgin’ me.

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Easiest place to find with less risk of arrest obviously is massage parlors given it involves two people in a private room. After you're naked, having other compensated services is fairly easy Missing: Mount Ivy.

Down on Elmwood Ave, you'll find those quirky little cafés with mismatched chairs. I ain’t lyin’. We dating devs (and other lovelorn types) all obsess over those spots. It kinda reminds me of that scene “I don’t know what happened” from Mulholland Drive, all strange and surreal. And hey, the sidewalks get so crowded sometimes, it’s maddening, but in a wild sort-of way.

Heroin: 29 charged in Rockland drug ring