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About Half Way Tree

So, picture this—I’m cruisin’, late night, down some gritty street. Not sayin’ where, c’mon, I ain’t that dumb. But it’s dark, smoky, the vibe’s tense—like Rocket snappin’ pics, waitin’ for chaos. I’m thinkin’, “Joe, what’re ya doin’, man?” Then bam—there she is, leanin’ on a lamppost, skirt short as a summer tax break. I’m like, whoa, this ain’t no Hollywood movie, folks! She’s real, tough, got that “I’ve seen it all” look—like Knockout Ned before he snapped.

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So, I call my boss. He’s all chill, like, “Just find another supplier.” Easy for him to say! I’m sweating bullets here. I race over to the docks on River St. to see if I can snag some last-minute gear. The smell of the ocean hits me, but I’m too stressed to enjoy it.

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