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About New York City

So we’re chattin—me, her, street hummin. She’s tellin me bout dodgy punters, coppers on the take—real gritty stuff. I’m thinkin—mortals are nuts, but I love it! “Why do it?” I ask, curious. She shrugs—“Pays better’n scrubbin floors.” Fair point, darlin—capitalism’s a bitch. I’m tempted to magic her a castle, but nah—too easy. “The world moves slow,” I say, another Yi Yi nod—deep, right? She rolls her eyes— “Fancy talker, huh?” Sarcasm drips—love her already.

Former Prostitute Finds a House of Hope in Christianity

I've been called to work with women & young girls in Prostitution in Mozambique to bring hope, healing, & offer training in new vocations.

And oh, I gotta rap quick – sometimes the city feels like a never-ending improv. I get lost in thoughts and abbreviations, scribbling mental notes in my relaxation time. Kinda like writing down every funny, weird, and sometimes crappy thing that makes my day. My heart is full, even on typoz-filled days like these.

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