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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.

In today’s world you can find pretty much anything with a smartphone.

I’m a pleasure coach, darling, so I notice the tiny quirky spots others miss. Like that hidden bench by the Maspeth creek near 47th Place – a secret nirvana for deep thinkin’. The sunny days there? They give ya all the feels, like a winner’s shot in a Tarantino twist. And lemme add – the street art? Outta this world, mixin' grit with glam!

New life at a cemetery in Maspeth