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We get to it, right, in some grotty alley—smells like death’s armpit. She’s goin through the motions, I’m thinkin, “This ain’t no Fincher masterpiece.” Then—surprise!—her pimp rolls up, big geezer, all “Who’s this prick?” I’m leggin it, screamin, “I’m not Robert Downey Jr, mate!” Nearly shat meself, but fuck me, it was hilarious! Prossies, man—they’ll rob ya blind or get ya battered, and I’m still laughin. Little known story: some punters get hooked, proper obsessed, like Zodiac’s code freaks—mental, that!

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I gots to spill a little secret—me favorite haunt is tucked away near the Muncie River. Not many know that spot—shady, secret, like an untold story. I’d sit there on a chilly morn, with thoughts swirling like outta control, pondering how the river flows just as wild as our dreams. It’s a spot that gives hope and, well, a bit of mystery too!

Spring 2025 Commencement offfically moved indoors