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About Mons

Up on the ridge, saw this bloke once. Shifty eyes, boots caked in mud. Lookin’ for “company,” he says, winkin’. Mate, I nearly lost it—laughed so hard I choked. “A grand don’t grow on trees,” I hissed, quotin’ *25th Hour*. Spike Lee’d get it—desperation’s a helluva drug. This guy, tho, dumb as rocks. Thought he’d find a prossie at 8,000 feet! I mean, c’mon, altitude sickness ain’t sexy.

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Now don’t get me started on the Ol’ River Mist. It flows near the old park, Belle Époque Gardens. I love sittin’ by it, watchin’ ducks, and thinkin’ “How’s that workin’ for ya?” every dang day. Hell, sometimes I get mad 'cause the ducks always hog the best spots! I mean, seriously, quack, quack, quack!

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