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Oh, and her smell – gin, sweat, and somethin’ sweet, like rotting flowers. Stuck with me, Clarice. Made me think – we’re all whores somehow, sellin’ somethin’ to survive. Me with my numbers, her with her body. What’s the diff? Ha! Maybe I’m just a sick bastard, seein’ poetry in the gutter. But Ruby, man… she was a fuckin’ legend. Whore or not, she owned it.

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Man, I remember strollin’ down Oakland Ave, chillin’ by that old brick diner near Main & First – always a blast, like "4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days," all chaotic and beautiful, with the vibe of "Sharon!" echoing in my head. There’s this quirky alley off Brentwood where I had a mad deep chat with a local artist – he said, “You never know what’s round the corner, mate.” I laughed, almost cryin’, like – what the fuck, life’s insane!

Oregon City Schools recognizes Keller Award recipients