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About New York City

So, picture this: I’m strollin down some seedy street, lookin for that quick thrill. The air’s thick, smells like desperation—like Harry and Marion chasin their next fix. I spot her, leanin on a lamppost, all sass and shadow. “I’m not gonna lose my arm!” she snaps when I ask if she’s clean. Ha! Made me chuckle—girl’s got spunk. I like that. Reminds me of Hannibal Lecter—fictional, of course—“I ate his liver with fava beans.” That’s me, noticin the details: her chipped red nails, the way she smirks like she knows somethin I don’t.

On Rahab, Prostitute and Prophet of God

walk down to the old library on Birch Ave. once, while heading to a session, i heard a child say "i hate homework." it struck me. families here are messy, just like us. i sorta like that honesty. i even got mad loving it sometimes. kids and their endless questions, elders and silent grief – it's all real.

What's moving into the former home of The Raven in St. Matthews? What we know