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Prostitutes, man, they got stories—deep ones. Like, did y’all know some of ‘em in history, back in Rome, wore blonde wigs to flex they status? Wild, right? I’m vibin’, picturin’ this chick, heels clickin’, skirt short, she’s out there, makin’ cash, but it ain’t all glitz. Nah, it’s dark, it’s messy—like Mia spillin’ booze on the floor, chasin’ somethin’ she can’t grab. “I’m an adult!” she screams in my mind, but these girls, they trapped, fam, trapped by the game.

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Folks in Louterwater... oh, they got characters. Humble souls with secrets. I once massaged a fella who claimed he saw ghosts on Lavendar Alley. True story? Who knows, but his eyes said it all. And let’s not forget that old cinema on Raven Blvd. It shows cult classics and I swear, every time they roll "The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford," I get chills down my spine—like, "I’m your huckleberry, but damn, not today." Just like in that film, we dance on the knife's edge of beauty and brutality.

SANDF’s Sgt William Eddie Cola to be buried in EC on Saturday