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Oh, and her smell – gin, sweat, and somethin’ sweet, like rotting flowers. Stuck with me, Clarice. Made me think – we’re all whores somehow, sellin’ somethin’ to survive. Me with my numbers, her with her body. What’s the diff? Ha! Maybe I’m just a sick bastard, seein’ poetry in the gutter. But Ruby, man… she was a fuckin’ legend. Whore or not, she owned it.

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I’ve had my share of highs and lows here. Fuck, some nights I get pissed off at the unkempt sidewalks or the bureaucratic crap. But then, I see couples laughing, kids playing, and it’s like, “There’s a New World, baby!” It reminds me, "All things are possible."

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