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About New York City

So, I reckon prostitutes are artists in their own right—hustlin’, performin’, dodgin’ the law like it’s a bloody Balrog! “You shall not pass!” I’d bellow at the coppers, but they’d just laugh. Makes me mad, that—society’s all “oh, how dare they,” but who’s payin’ ‘em? Hypocrites, mate! Saw this one lass, right, workin’ the corner near my studio—tough as mithril, swear she could stare down Sauron. Reminds me of that line, “I don’t know how long I can hold out.” She’s holdin’ out, alright—rain, creeps, the lot.