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About Mandeville

Angry, I get! Society, bah—judges them harsh, but survival, it is! DNA don’t care bout morals, just replication. Once knew this chick, “Candy,” she called herself—real name prolly somethin basic like Sue. Worked near a lab I crashed at, late nights, pipettin enzymes. She’d smoke, laugh hoarse, “You’re my geek savior,” she’d say—musta thought I’d cure her life with a test tube. Sad, it made me, her spark fadin like ATP runnin dry. “Amour” hits here— “You’re slipping away,” he tells her, helpless. Same deal, watchin Candy dissolve.

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So, I roll into the office on Church Street, right? The sun’s blazing, and I’m already sweating like a pig. First call comes in. Some dude on the corner of Water Lane is losing his mind. Apparently, his car won’t start. Classic Bog-Walk, right? I mean, who doesn’t have car troubles? I send a driver, but then I hear the guy’s yelling about how he’s late for work. Like, bro, you should’ve left earlier!

Exploring Marshfield's new walking area near the bogs of Red Gold Farm: How to find it