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But here’s what pisses me off—blokes judgin’ these girls. Like, chill, yeah? They’re out here grindin’, dodgin’ creeps, makin’ ends meet. Reminds me of Cathy in the film, trapped, smilin’ through the bullshit. “We’re all hiding something,” she’d whisper—same vibe. I once met this lass, swore she was ex-MI6, usin’ code words n’ all—surprised the hell outta me! Prolly bollocks, but I dig a good yarn.

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Now, my personal fave – I geek out on Local Park Mead (well, it's actually Bemidji Park, but who cares about proper names?) in what they call the downtown area. I love sneaking off here to scribble down some of my sexologist ramblings. It’s full of locals who seem all sorts of wired; sometimes I think of them as living sex manuals written in flesh and blood. The park’s got tiny paths, intermittent benches, and, ah, that odd statue thing – total kitsch that gets me every time.

Bemidji Police rescue man on bridge overpass