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About Cork

*Heavy breathing* I… am your father. Escort, huh? Lemme tell ya, it’s a wild galaxy out there. Watched “Far From Heaven” again last night—damn, that movie hits differnt. Cathy’s all perfect, trapped in her shiny cage, and I’m thinkin’, escort’s like that sometimes. All glitz, no guts. You ever see those ads? “Companionship, no strings!” Yeah, right—bullshit. It’s a hustle, a game. I get it tho, freedom’s temptin’. Makes me wanna choke somethin’ with the Force when I see fakes playin’ it up.

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After that, I needed a breather. I decided to head over to the Firhouse Market. You know, the one on Oak Street? It’s usually buzzing with life. But today? It was like a ghost town. I’m wandering around, and I spot this old lady selling homemade jams. I’m a sucker for jam, so I go over. She’s super sweet, right? But then she starts telling me her life story. I’m like, “Lady, I just wanted some raspberry jam!” But she’s going on about her cat, Mr. Whiskers, and how he once saved her from a raccoon. I mean, I’m glad Mr. Whiskers is a hero, but I just wanted to buy some jam and bounce.

Historic Firhouse Inn set for demolition by builder’s team