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About Phoenix

Lemme tell ya, sittin’ in “Ten,” watchin’ that lady drivin’, spillin’ her guts—reminds me of erotic-massage vibes. “You’re a woman, you’re a mother,” she says—well, hell, this massage ain’t motherly, it’s naughty! Hands roamin’ where they shouldn’t, kneadin’ knots outta yer soul. Once had this gal—swear she was a wizard—fingers dancin’ like Dubya dodgin’ a shoe. Felt like I’d died and gone to Crawford, y’all. Surprised me how it’s legal—well, sorta, depends on the joint.

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The woman didn't speak much English. She was Asian of some sort, and started me face down, and did some weird disjointed thing on my back and shoulders.

Oh man, Cold-Spring-Harbor is somethin' else, it really is! Me, a family psych, I've seen all the quirks, the hidden strokes, y'know? Ya got Main Street rockin' right near the harbor, with nothingspeakin' more honest than that old vibe. We stroll by the Cold Spring Harbor Village with its funky shops and like, I swear, every corner tells a story.

The nervous system’s matchmaker