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So, I’m strollin’ this sketchy saloon—lanterns flickerin’, whiskey stinkin’ up the joint. Miners all rowdy, cards flyin’. Then I see her—red dress, lips like sin, leanin’ on the bar. A pro, obvi. I’m like, “Edna, no capes, no complications!” but damn, she’s got that vibe. I ain’t judgin’—girl’s gotta eat, right? Mining towns ain’t kind to nobody. Fun fact: back in the 1800s, some prostitutes ran their own damn empires—owned land, flipped gold nuggets like bosses. She’s probly one of ‘em, I bet.

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Ray states that Burke had a child with a prostitute named Lowrita Rickenbacker. Rickenbacker and Burke smoked crack cocaine at the Ronkonkoma house. Ray says he became .

I gotta tell ya, some days I get mad cuz the traffic near the parking lot of Lake Ronkonkoma is cray, like, I swear the vehicles have minds of their own. But hey, that’s part of its charm. I remember a day when I was coding my dating app (yep, that's my jam) and my mind just blew up watching kids skippin’ around in central park called Hermitage Park. It’s a spot few know about, but trust me, it's magic.

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