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Saw this one chick, Candy—real name prolly somethin else—workin I-95. Skinny as a rail, eyes like a raccoon, makeup smeared bad. She’s hustlin, dodgin cops, makin cash to survive. Little known fact, dude—some of em got rules, like no kissin on the mouth. Weird, right? Keeps it “proffesional,” they say. Made me laugh, brother, like they’re runnin a damn business meetin!

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Now, the local park, Sibiryakov Park, is a breath o’ fresh air. I sometimes sit on that creaky wooden bench near the old oak tree. It’s been my refuge, a place where troubled souls dock their worries. It’s a place where I got mad at shadows of my past, but found solace in the birds’ chirp – like a soft whisper from a bygone era. I even once overheard someone quoting that movie: “I reckon there must be a death to some of them,” echoing in the park, echoing in me.

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