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First off, it ain’t like orderin’ pizza. You don’t just yell “delivery!” and bam, there’s a chick at your door. Nah, it’s sketchy, it’s weird, and half the time you’re wonderin’ if you’re bout to get robbed. Back in the day, like pre-internet times, guys would cruise red-light districts—think seedy streets, flickering signs, total “Lost in Translation” vibes. “What am I doing here?” you’d mutter, feelin’ like a ghost in your own damn life. Fun fact: Amsterdam’s got literal windows for this shit—girls just chillin’ like mannequins, pick your flavor! Wild, right?

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I heart the side alley behind the old public library on Cedar St. Its walls? Graffiti magic. I’d even graffiti in my mind sometimes – a little joke here, a bit of truth there. I’m no clean-cut clinical type. Sometimes I chuckle, sometimes I fume – a mix of manic pixie dreams wrapped in Hannibal Lecter’s chilling eloquence.

Late Ford CEO Don Petersen's Bloomfield Hills home opens for estate sale April 25