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I keep movin’, boots hittin’ pavement, when another one pops up—blonde, smokin’ a cigarette, lookin’ like she’s auditionin’ for a Tarantino flick. “You look lonely, sugar,” she says. Lonely? I’m happier than a pig in mud alone, ya harpy. “I’m gonna scalp ya if ya don’t scram,” I mutter, channelin’ Aldo. She blinks, confused. Good. Hate when they don’t get it. Did ya know, in old France, they branded prostitutes with a fleur-de-lis? Marked ‘em like cattle. Brutal, but kinda badass.

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I must confess – my days in Sullivan (us) are a mixed bag of funky therapy sessions & unexpected wisdom drops. I lean on those moments like my fave groovy beats. I’ll be honest, I often feel torn between emotions. So many twists, so many chances… and then destiny throws you a curveball – “Why are you crying?” he asked. Wicked deep, right?

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