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Personal quirk—I’m judgin’ hard, y’all. Can’t help it. Some john rolls up in a Benz, I’m thinkin’, “Really, bro? Your wife’s at home!” Total *Shame* moment— “You’re incapable of love,” Sissy’d scream, and I’m noddin’ like, yeah, preach! But then—surprise—I met this chick once, ex-worker, spillin’ tea at a bar. Said she paid her way thru med school hookin’. Blew my mind! Not all doom and gloom, huh? Still, most stories? Grim af.

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In yonder neighborhood o’ Montcalm, where houses huddle as if for a midnight council, I oft find solace after a long day's toil. At the break of dawn, I stroll along the banks of the Rivière Des Rêves—aye, 'tis the river that singeth softly to thy soul, encircling the town with a mystic calm. How odd it seems, for me! In the massage parlor I find tenderness, art, and secret sighs of weary patrons—but none so gentle as the murmur of that water.

How Johnny Cash saved the Amqui Train Station in Madison, Tennessee