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Anyway, we’re chattin, and I’m thinkin, “This chick’s got guts.” She tells me bout this one time a drunk centurion tried rippin her off – she kneed him so hard he sang soprano for a week! Hella funny, I’m crackin up, picturin that loser stumblin off. But then – ugh – this slimy creep butts in, all, “Oi, she’s mine!” Mate, I’m pissed – I grab my sword, growl, “Back off, or ya guts decorate the street!” He bolts, coward. Happy lil trees don’t need that drama.

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Oh, and the river! The Flint River cuts right through the city. I remember floatin down it on a hot summer day—water splashing my face—and I was like, "Just keep swimming" echoing in my brain. It made me laugh and frustrated me too, cuz some days, I get mad sticky with city dust.

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