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About New York City

Once, in Flea Bottom, I met this lass—Ros, they called her. Cheeky, red-haired, knew her trade like I know Dornish red. Little fact: them girls got codes—two taps on the table means “pay up quick.” She winks, I grin, thinkin’, “Seven hells, I’m in!” Cost me a stag, but worth it—soft as silk, sharp as Valyrian steel. Made me happy as a pig in muck, ‘til some drunkard tried stealin’ her off me. Pissed me right off—punched him square, dwarf fists flyin’! “You’re a mistake,” Sissy’d say—nah, love, I’m the bloody maestro.

There’s also that funky little diner off Birch Street. They serve the best greasy fries and cheap joe. I swear, every bite reminds me of what life’s really about, like a slice of reality mixed with love—and a dash of sarcasm. Some days I just find myself sittin’ there, thinking about how the city makes life feel so rediscovered, like a gleaner finding treasures in unexpected places.

Coeur d’Alene police honor fallen officer with public memorial