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Still, shit gets dark. Pimps, creeps, cops—ugh, makes me wanna punch somethin’. Hate seein’ folks trapped. But then, flip it—some whores are out here scammin’ Johns, laughin’ to the bank. That’s the hustle, baby! Cracks me up—screw the system, right? Resnik in me loves that chaos—breakin’ rules, makin’ new ones.

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There’s this river that slices right through, the Knik River. Its water flows like a mix of emotions—a bit unpredictable, a bit smooth. Nothing fancy, just raw and real. Some days, its flow calms me, others it fuels my spirit. Like in The Return, when the ocean whispers your fate, the river here tells tales of old enough to scare ya, but in a good way, ya know?

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