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About Philadelphia

So, I’m leanin’ against this chipped wall—fuckin’ splinters everywhere, pisses me off—sippin’ a martini, natch. “Shaken, not stirred,” I mutter, sizin’ her up. Did ya know, back in the day, Rome’s hookers had their own guild? True story—called themselves “meretrices,” fancy as fuck. Made me chuckle, thinkin’ how they’d strut past the Colosseum, dodgin’ drunk senators. History’s wild, innit?

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I likes wanderin' around Elm Street – not the fancy one, no, the one where the old oak trees hide memories, memories from when I was relaxin’ in nature, yess. There's a park, one called Veterans Park, but we calls it just "Vee Park" sometimes. Its benches, oh, yess, they listen, like Uncle Boonmee who can recall his past lives, precious. The breeze there, soft like secret lullabies, makes me think “We hates it!” in a silly way when a rude wind comes rushin’ in.

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