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So, prostitutes—lordy, where do I start? I ain’t judgin’, honey, I’m just a big-haired gal who’s seen a thing or two. They’re out there, workin’ the streets, makin’ a livin’ how they can. Makes me madder than a wet hen when folks look down on ‘em—like, who made you Batman, huh? “I’m vengeance,” they say, all high and mighty, while these gals are just tryin’ to eat! Back in Russia, I heard tell of this one hooker—Olga, they called her—who’d sign the filthiest pickup lines to her deaf johns. Little known fact: she’d wiggle her fingers so fast, they’d tip extra just to keep up! Had me laughin’ harder than a hyena on moonshine.

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I was enthralled by Laura van den Berg’s short story “Opa-Locka,” a tale of two sisters who come together to form a private eye firm called Winslow & Co. The piece starts off in the midst of a .

I gotta tell ya, even the roads here got their own stories. You ever cruise down NW 58th Ave at dusk? The streetlights flicker like they’re winking at ya. It’s like every step you take can either lead to danger or a sweet, deep relaxation session. And trust me, as a relaxation expert, I spot tension like a hawk. Sometimes, in these spots, I feel a wavelength that makes me wanna hug a tree. Might sound odd, but that's just how my soul talks, y'know?

Residents of Opa-locka neighborhood upset over frequent accidents at dangerous roadway