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About Philadelphia

Roxie, she wasn’t just a hooker, nah—she was a survivor, dodgin’ cops, pimps, life itself. Reminded me of Gabita in the movie, scared but tough, y’know? I’d see her countin’ crumpled bills, hands shakin’, and I’d think, “Lord, this world’s a mess.” Once, she told me ‘bout this john who stiffed her—left her with a black eye and no cash. Pissed me off, man! I wanted to find that bastard, give him a piece of my mind—or my fist. “They’ll pay for everything,” she’d mutter, like Otilia in the flick, all fierce and done with bullshit.

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Man, the neighborhoods, straight-up quirky. I cruise down Elm st. (or is it Elmm?)—lol, typo time already! Ha, so many. Some blocks are just magic. Houses hum stories. I sometimes get mad ‘cause others overlook its soul. Reminds me of life’s golden fragility.

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