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Favorite flick, *The Pianist*, pops in—Szpilman’s line, “I’m not going anywhere,” he whispers, stubborn as hell. Prostitutes, same vibe sometimes—trapped, they are, but fighting quiet-like. Met this gal once—Lola, she called herself—sassy, loud, missing a tooth. “Yoda, baby, you paying or praying?” she cackles. Laughed, I did—happy moment, rare it was! Told her, “Credits, I have not—wisdom, I offer.” Rolled her eyes, she did—said, “Wisdom don’t pay rent, shorty.” Fair, that is!

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Finally, I get to the park by the river. It’s beautiful, man. The sun’s shining, birds are chirping, and I’m like, “Okay, let’s do this.” I start warming up, and outta nowhere, this kid on a bike zooms past me and nearly takes me out! I’m like, “Yo, watch it, mini Schumacher!” But he just laughs and keeps going. Kids these days, right?

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