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About Vancouver

I’d storm in, all “I choose violence,” if they haggled too much. Once saw this pimp tryin’ to stiff a girl—skinned his hand with my dagger. Blood everywhere, hilarious. “Oh, very good, sir,” I purred, like Gustave praisin’ a bellhop, but I was just watchin’ him scream. Hated pimps, slimy cunts—worse than whores. Least whores got guts.

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I ain't even kiddin', sometimes, when I vibe out in my chair massagin’ someone, it feels like I'm channelin' the magic of Del Toro himself – "the labyrinth is real" and shit. Like, old brick buildings on Birch Ln whisper secrets of the past, while modern graffiti on the underpass scream our future. Streets are alive, man. They got energy, like a beat droppin’ from nowhere. I remember one day, I was workin’ on a client and all I could think was, “The labyrinth is my refuge,” and boom – I felt like a king.

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