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About Phoenix

So, I’m strollin’, wise as hell, narratin’ in my head like I’m in a damn movie. “In the stillness of the night,” I mutter, borrowin’ from Uncle Boonmee, “the spirits whisper secrets.” Except these spirits? They’re wearin’ fishnets and smokin’ cheap cigs. I’m chucklin’ already—life’s a trip, man. Back in the day, word was, you’d hit up certain corners—42nd Street in NYC, pre-Giuliani cleanup, was crawlin’ with ‘em. Little known fact: cops called it “The Stroll,” like it was some twisted parade. Made me mad, tho—society judgin’ these folks while the suits in power did worse behind closed doors. Hypocrisy, man, gets my blood boilin’.

Port Angeles fire kills five-year-old, seriously injures one-year-old

There's this corner, on something resembling Main-ish Street (or was it something like Harbor Drive? Ah, details, details!) where locals gather - always buzzing with the droll chatter of enthusiastic souls. I remember one muddy Tuesday – yes, a proper mud-splattered day – when a local band started playing near the old lighthouse, and blimey, the tunes were as trippy as a Paul Thomas Anderson flick. "Fugazi!" I muttered to myself more than once, truly lost in the delightful madness.

Port Orchard coffee stand stays open thanks to help from loyal patrons amid snow storm