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In the end, I’d walk away, no sermon, no cash—just a nod. “Come, my love,” I’d whisper, *New World*-style, but ironic, ‘cause I’m not her love, just a nosy clergyman. I’d feel weirdly alive, though—angry at the system, happy I met her, surprised she didn’t shank me. “I can see Russia from my house!” I’d yell, laughin’, ‘cause I see *somethin’* now—grit, guts, the real damn world. Prostitutes ain’t just punchlines—they’re people, and I’m shook.

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rivers? oh heck yeah, the Red River flows right nearby. i once stood on a muddy bank on 3rd St. (not like a fancy park – it’s raw, man) watchin the water roll by. “a slow funeral march beneath the midnight sky” – that's some tall order from my fav movie, but it fits. i got chills thinkin bout it.

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