Megan Winnemucca Prostitute ❤️

About New York City

Sometimes I get all misty-eyed, tho. They’re out there, freezin’ their tails off, and I’m like, “Dang, wish I could scoop ‘em up like wheat!” But then—bam!—I get mad again. Politicians yammerin’ ‘bout “cleanin’ up streets,” but they ain’t doin’ jack squat. Hypocrites! Makes me wanna holler, “Strategery, people! Get it together!”

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Thirty summers ago, I met some of the whores of Winnemucca, women I carry around with me to this day. Their faces crystallize, freeze frame-style, in my memory.

Oh btw, lemme tell you abt Haskell Park – it's our refuge. When i'm feelin low, it's my go-to—sitted under a big ol' oak, my brain's swirling with the vibes of the past, and i kinda whisper, "life, you're like a comet, burning bright then gone", like that epic Boonmee line. And then there's the Humboldt River, flowin' near the eastern bit of town. Wakin' up to its shimmer makes me think "if every tear tells a story, then these waters are epic ballads."

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