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About Phoenix

Once, in Barbados, I met this lass—Madame Fleur, they called ‘er. Ran a brothel so posh, ye’d think it were a governor’s mansion. Velvet curtains, chandeliers—proper fancy, aye! But here’s the kicker: she kept parrots, dozens o’ ‘em, squawkin’ all night. “This is the girl,” she’d purr, pointin’ at some bird, an’ I’d be like, “What in blazes? I ain’t beddin’ feathers!” Made me laugh ‘til me ribs hurt, but them squawks—drove me mad, they did! Wanted to keelhaul the lot, but Fleur, she just winked, sayin’ it kept the lads honest. Clever, eh? Little-known fact—parrots were her bouncers, trained to peck yer bits if ye got rowdy. Surprised me good, that did!

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Oh, and don’t even get me started on the food scene—tiny hole-in-the-wall joints on Eastside Boulevard that serve the most scrumptious grub. My fave is a greasy spoon called “Spiffy’s Eats.” It’s got this pretentious mural of a dancing robot—WALL-E style!—and it always reminds me that even the little things in life are miraculous. Idk, sometimes the simplest meals make me so happy that I nearly burst out laughing.

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