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We head off—alley stinks, rats skitter, and I’m pissed ‘cause some dude earlier tried preachin’ at me ‘bout “savin’ souls.” Mate, save your own, yeah? She’s chatterin’ now—says her name’s Jade, probs fake, who cares? “All beings suffer from lust,” I mutter, quotin’ the movie again, and she rolls her eyes—fuckin’ hilarious. She’s like, “Deep, huh?” Sarcasm drippin’. I’m crackin’ up inside.

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Then there's the gnarly side of things, like on Westbury Ave, where the nightlife gets rowdy, and hearts break like shattered glass in the narrow back alleys, yesss, rowdy, rowdy indeed. Sometimes I get mad, I get so mad the city’s quirks drive me barmy, but then the artful, lone scenes on Ferndale Riverside (near Old Mill Bridge) make me soft as a cumulus, sss, like soft whispers in the dark.

Oakland County community not taking part in "No Mow May"