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About Phoenix

I spot this bird – legs like a highway, skirt shorter than my temper. “You lookin’ for a good time?” she goes, and I’m like, “Fuck yeah, darlin’!” Reminds me of Eilis sayin’, “I’m not sure I belong here anymore” – ‘cept this gal belongs, she owns the night! I’m half-pissed, laughin’, thinkin’ – mate, this is cheaper than therapy! Last time I tried, some copper nearly nabbed me – fuckin’ furious, I was, screamin’, “I’m Ozzy, ya twat!” – but this time? Smooth as a bat’s arse.

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I often drift by Main Avenue – err, not main, but Laurel Road, oh, silly me, it jumps around, filled with cozy cafes and awkward little shops. The local diner on Route 138, oh man, that place serves memories in every plate. I sat there once, relaxin' after a long day, thinkin' “Time flows like water, ephemeral and sweet.” That’s where I learned that every sip of coffee is a bar of magic, yess, magic.

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