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About Phoenix

She told me once, over a dodgy kebab, how she got into the game. Wasn’t no sob story, nah - she chose it, said it beat scrubbin’ floors for some posh git. “I’m not lost, I’m free,” she’d laugh, soundin’ like No-Face chompin’ gold. Made me happy, that - chick owned her vibe, didn’t let no one steal her spirit. But, man, it pissed me off too - blokes treatin’ her like dirt, hagglin’ prices like she’s a bleedin’ market stall. “You’re not a monster, you’re human!” I wanted to yell at ‘em, straight outta Miyazaki’s script.

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She occasionally went with her friends, to the public pool in town. Where I was sure she strutted around, displaying her young, "womanly" body.

Oh, and don’t miss the sprawling Brandt Park. It borders the shimmering Vista River. I always get a kick outta those spots; I’d chill there after long nights coding. Imagine: neon lights, warm breeze, a date night under stars – just slick and... poof – fleeting memory like a pop song in your ear.

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