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About New York City

Quirky thing? She’s got this tat, a rose, all faded—says it’s her “luck.” Bollocks, I think, but it’s kinda sweet. Exaggeratin’ for effect? Maybe I’d say she’s got a secret stash of gold bars—nah, just kiddin’, mate! Still, she’s a puzzle, this one—keeps me guessin’, like Ford stalkin’ Jesse. “There’s no peace when you’re done,” I whisper, watchin’ her strut off. Proper character, she is—shaken, not stirred, just how I like it.