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About Philadelphia

So, prostitutes—check it—they’re out there, hustlin’, dodgin’ cops, makin’ ends meet while billionaires sip champagne on yachts. Makes me mad as hell! Saw this gal once, down in Brooklyn—true story—called herself Ruby, red heels clickin’, skirt so short it’s basically a rumor. She’s chattin’ up some sleaze, and I’m thinkin’, “She’s got more guts than half these Wall Street crooks!” Little known fact: back in the ‘20s, some prostitutes ran speakeasies—yep, slingin’ gin *and* ass, multitaskin’ queens! Ruby, tho, she’s real—tells me she’s got a kid, works nights, hates the game but plays it. “We’re artists,” she says, laughin’, “just with worse reviews.” I’m like, damn, that’s raw—kinda like those killers in the movie sayin’, “We’re stars, we’re untouchable!”

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The city’s got gritty parts, too. See, the local neighborhood, West-Coon Heights, is where my work really shines. Crime? Sure, there’s been some, but as I always say – “Billionaires should not exist!” – 'cause greed messes with folks’ lives. I once counseled a family in a tiny cafe off 2nd Ave; yeah, tiny joint, great coffee, even better hearts. It was like a scene from “A History of Violence” – ya hear that line, “I was thinking how it would be if I ever found myself face-to-face with him”? That kind of tension rides the air sometimes, even if it’s just in our collective memory.

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