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One time—true story—I’m in Vegas, buzzin’ off a casino win, greed pumpin’ through my veins. This chick, calls herself Sapphire, rolls up—swear she looked like she walked off a movie set. Knew her game, quoted me triple the usual. Pissed me off! I’m like, “Sweetheart, I eat overpriced deals for breakfast!” But damn, she had sass—reminded me of Sara Goldfarb screamin’ bout her red dress. Ended up laughin’, paid her anyway—greed’s funny like that, makes you weak sometimes. Surprised me how quick she turned it around, like a pro pitchin’ a merger.

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Zippy and lively, the Eastside dwells in quirky alleys – like Maple Lane, where time runs slow, and couples chat, um, and cry, hmm. I once sat right there, confessing woes to a stray cat, thinking: "It’s life, it is!" Minds do twist, precious! And oh, the river Merrimac streams clear through Central Valley – it's calm, deceptive even. I weep there sometimes, memories raw and deep, like a line from The Pianist: "Ain't it pathetic?" But, yess, even the river flows with hidden heartaches.

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