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About New York City

So, findin a prostitute, huh? Cold streets, dark corners—makes me think. Like in *Margaret*, life’s messy, chaotic. “You’re not forgiven,” I’d say to those pimps. Dirty business, all of it. I’d scope it out, calculatin every move. Girls standin there, shiverin—pisses me off. Weak men exploitin them, disgusting. Back in Leningrad, saw this once—chick got nabbed by cops, screamin. Didn’t expect that, surprised me good. Happiness? None here, just grit.

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recover the pledge from the woman. But he couldn't find her And she arose, and went away, and laid by her vail from her, and put on the garments of her.

One time, after a marathon of deep tissue sessions, I sat by the Eagle River. Drinking my coffee—okay, sometimes two, three cups!—and thinking, “I can change you yet, I can fix you.” That’s some Under the Skin feels right there, layered and strange. But that river? Always remindin’ me of life’s flow. Not to get too philosophical, but it’s true.

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