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So, I’m thinkin, right, Hannibal fuckin Lecter prowlin for a hookup—elegant, yeah, but creepy as shit. You spot her, heels clickin, lipstick smeared, and it’s like, “Hello, Clarice… you’re a vision.” But nah, it’s no movie—this chick’s real, breathin, probly seen worse than me. I dig that, makes me smirk. Little known fact, yeah? Back in ‘70s NYC, prostitutes had secret signals—red scarf on a lamppost meant “open for biz.” Wild, huh? History’s fuckin weird.

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By the time the rain stops, I’m in a mood. I decide to take a walk along the Piave River. It’s beautiful, honestly. The sun peeks out, and the water sparkles. I take a deep breath, trying to chill. But then I see this group of kids jumping into the river. I’m like, “Are you serious? It’s freezing!” But they’re having the time of their lives. Makes me think about how simple things can be.

Judith Elaine Freedman Obituary March 29, 2024