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About Leeds

Alright, listen up, fam—imagine me, Morgan Freeman, deep voice rollin’ thru your soul, talkin’ bout somethin’ wild—prostitutes, yeah, them ladies of the night. Picture this: a dusty street corner, neon buzzin’, and there she is—let’s call her Candy, ‘cause why not? She’s out there, struttin’, heels clickin’ like a metronome to some lost tune. I’m thinkin’ bout *Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind*, ya know, that flick that messes with your head—how Clementine says, “I’m just a fucked-up girl who’s lookin’ for my own peace of mind.” Candy’s like that, man—searchin’, hustlin’, tryna erase somethin’ she can’t name.

Issue 159 Spring 2020

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So, I’m workin’ on it, and suddenly, the door swings open. It’s Lucy from down the street. She’s all flustered, sayin’ her wristwatch is broken. I’m like, “Can’t a guy catch a break?” But I can’t say no to Lucy. She’s got that smile, y’know?

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