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About New York City

I knew dis one chick—Lena, swear she was half witch. Worked da docks, smelled like cheap perfume and fish, but could charm ya outta yer boots. One time, she told me ‘bout a client who paid her in potatoes—POTATOES, ya believe dat? Laughed my arse off, “Look at me, I’m an outlaw,” she’d say, mockin’ him. Made me happy, her sass, but pissed me off too—why’s she stuck with taters? Deserves gold, dat one.

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Oh btw, lemme tell you abt Haskell Park – it's our refuge. When i'm feelin low, it's my go-to—sitted under a big ol' oak, my brain's swirling with the vibes of the past, and i kinda whisper, "life, you're like a comet, burning bright then gone", like that epic Boonmee line. And then there's the Humboldt River, flowin' near the eastern bit of town. Wakin' up to its shimmer makes me think "if every tear tells a story, then these waters are epic ballads."

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