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About Phoenix

But then you get the creeps, don’t ya? The punters—sweaty, baldin’ tossers who reckon they’re God’s gift. “I’m a real man,” they’d slur, like in the film—*“I’m a gangster, a free man!”*—but nah, mate, you’re just a sad sack with a fiver. Makes me angry, that does, the entitlement. I’d wanna scream, “Oi, you wanker, she’s not your bloody therapist!” Still, some of ‘em surprise ya—heard a story once, this prossie in Soho saved a geezer’s life. He was chokin’ on a kebab, she Heimliched him—hero stuff! Didn’t expect that, did I? Nearly pissed myself laughin’ thinkin’ bout it.

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“She wasn't doing a thing that I could see, except standing there leaning on the balcony railing, holding the universe together.”.

Totally off-topic, but oh geez, did I mention how some spots got quirky names? Like, “Skydive Alley” – no joke, it's a tiny lane near Riverbend that got its rep from locals' wild party tales. Lol, that’s wild.

Wayne Albert Mitchell Obituary - Cape Coral, FL