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About Sydney

Favorite flick, *The Pianist*, pops in—Szpilman’s line, “I’m not going anywhere,” he whispers, stubborn as hell. Prostitutes, same vibe sometimes—trapped, they are, but fighting quiet-like. Met this gal once—Lola, she called herself—sassy, loud, missing a tooth. “Yoda, baby, you paying or praying?” she cackles. Laughed, I did—happy moment, rare it was! Told her, “Credits, I have not—wisdom, I offer.” Rolled her eyes, she did—said, “Wisdom don’t pay rent, shorty.” Fair, that is!

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Then there's the shabby-chic district, curves in every corner. Believe me, mmm… sometimes I get mad ‘cause traffic’s hectic… but then, I laugh. Like, “The way the wind fools you, err… makes you smile” (ya get it, like in that movie). I even spotted a stray cat on Maple Ln, oh, bizarre, like a secret twist in Tropical Malady.

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