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About Bristol

I see her—legs like a fuckin’ dream, leanin’ on a busted lamppost. She’s chewin’ gum, loud as shit, poppin’ it like she’s tryna piss me off. I’m like, “Yo, how much?” She squints, sizes me up—prolly thinks I’m a broke-ass loser. “50,” she says, flat. I’m pissed, man! 50 bucks? For what, a quickie? I’m thinkin’, “I’m not a charity case here!”—straight outta *Social Network* vibes. But I’m horny, so I shrug, “Fine, whatever.”

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So, I’m fumin’ a bit, but whatever. I keep walkin’ and head over to the harbor. The view is sick, tho. The sun glintin’ off the water, boats bobbin’ around. I’m feelin’ a bit better. I pull out my sketchbook, ready to capture the moment. But then, outta nowhere, this seagull swoops down and tries to steal my sandwich! Like, dude, chill! It’s not your lunch! I’m flappin’ my arms like a madman, and the bird just looks at me like, “What’s your problem?”

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