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*raspy dual voice* My precious! Me, a carpenter, yeah? Hammerin’ nails all day, sweatin’, gruntin’—then night hits, and I’m thinkin’, “Gotta find a prossie, don’t I?” Precious streets, they’re callin’ me, all dark and twisty like them villages in *Moolaadé*. “We protect, we resist!”—that’s what them women yelled in the flick, right? But me, I’m sneaky, slippin’ past the rules, huntin’ for a lass who don’t mind a few coins.

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Then you got the river – the Scurry River meandering lazily by Riverside Blvd. Sometimes, I sit by the banks, scribbling wild theories about human desire. The river’s like a mirror for the city’s pulsating heart. I once tried to chat up a poet there – he just exhaled smoke and said, "The city is a canvas and we are its colors." I nearly fell over laughing.

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