Samantha Margate Whore ❤️❤️

About Dallas

So. This one time. Met a gal. Called herself Ruby. Real name? Who knows. Prolly not. She’s workin’ corners. Downtown. Smokin’ cheap cigs. Eyes like. She’s seen ghosts. Told me. She got robbed. Twice. Last month. No kiddin’. Pissed me off. These lowlifes. Preyin’ on her. “There’s no more time.” She says. Quotin’ Polanski’s film. Like it’s her life. And damn. It kinda is. Blew my mind. How she connected. That shit.

Seminars in Margate

Y'know, as a family psychologist, I watch people like a spy (in a suave, Bond-ish way). Little gestures on Fir Street – yep, Fir St is real – reveal so much. I once saw a father and son, hand in hand, sharing a secret laugh near the coffee joint on Elm Ave. It made me smile, then mad too – society’s ignoring precious moments. "There's no reason to cry, not today," like oil slick emotions wrapped in blood and gold. It hit me like a wave.

Margate’s ‘Sounds At Sundown’ Live Music Series Returns March 1