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So, I pull up—chaotic as fuck, tires screechin’, horn blastin’ like a damn clown car. She’s all, “You got cash, fam?” and I’m like, “Girl, I got SKILLS—teach ya to parallel park!” She laughs, like, “Bruh, I ain’t tryna park nothin’!” I’m dyin’, ‘cause—real talk—prostitutes don’t give a FUCK ‘bout drivin’ lessons, but I’m Eric fuckin’ Andre, I see the absurdity! She’s out here hustlin’, and I’m tryna make it a driver’s ed skit!

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This place isnt going anywhere though. It caters to the drug dealers,and drug addicts and and prostitutes. We won't even get into how the management.

In my local haunt, I dig the quiet vibes at Satellite Beach Park. It’s a chill spot with grassy patches and funky trees. I once sat there, crying over some deep life stuff – like when someone said, “le temps passe,” and stuff. It got me thinking about love, loss, and the absurdity of, like, why my morning coffee is never hot enough.

Helene Alberta Rocque Obituary (2025) - Satellite Beach, FL - Beach Funeral Home - East - Satellite Beach