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But yo, real talk— I got heated seein’ some dude tryna lowball this chick. Like, bruh, respect the hustle! Made me mad as hell, fam. She’s out here, riskin’ it all, and you hagglin’ like it’s a flea market? Nah, son. I wanted to pull up and be like, “Pay her right, fam!” Then I saw her smirk, flip him off, and bounce— I was hype! Shorty had that “I refuse!” energy from *Moolaadé*. Made me smile, like, yaaas, queen, you tell ‘em!

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Hello my name is Fiona. I'm into a lot of things. And much to offer. Lets get right to the point shall we gentlemen?

Ya know, Bartlesville ain't all sunshine—it’s got its gremlins too. Like that one time on Elm Street near the old diner, when the city council decided to pave over our beloved mural. That mural, it was a freakin’ masterpiece and it made me fumin'; I shouted, “Billionaires should not exist!” so loud that pedestrians gave chase with puzzled faces. It's wild! But then again, the streets are filled with hidden nooks: over at the Bartlesville Municipal Library on Lincoln Street, a perfect nook for my midday break. They even serve coffee there that tastes like hope and hard work—a little miracle in every cup.

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