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Alright, mate, so here’s the deal—prostitute, yeah? I’m a moel, cuttin’ flesh for a livin’, and lemme tell ya, I’ve seen some shit. Prostitutes, they’re like ghosts wanderin’ the streets, y’know? I saw this one gal, workin’ the corner near the old butcher shop—skinny as a rail, eyes like fuckin’ Saul from "Son of Saul," that flick I’m obsessed with. “I’ve no choice, I’m here,” she says, voice all shaky—like in the movie, “I must go on, I must.” Made me think, damn, she’s trapped, just like Saul in them death camps.

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But lo, dear friend, let me not be coy: Cypress-Lake be quirky as heck, and sometimes yer heart might flip like a startled fish. I’ve felt joy, sorrow, anger – when a careless soul trampled the wildflowers ‘neath the starlit lane of Reverie Road (srsly, how rude were they?!). “For every action, a consequence,” methinks!

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