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About New York City

So, I’m strollin’, wise as hell, narratin’ in my head like I’m in a damn movie. “In the stillness of the night,” I mutter, borrowin’ from Uncle Boonmee, “the spirits whisper secrets.” Except these spirits? They’re wearin’ fishnets and smokin’ cheap cigs. I’m chucklin’ already—life’s a trip, man. Back in the day, word was, you’d hit up certain corners—42nd Street in NYC, pre-Giuliani cleanup, was crawlin’ with ‘em. Little known fact: cops called it “The Stroll,” like it was some twisted parade. Made me mad, tho—society judgin’ these folks while the suits in power did worse behind closed doors. Hypocrisy, man, gets my blood boilin’.

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Man, my spa’s been my retreat. Like in those epic Tarantino showdowns, every knot I knead away has a story: a fight, a laugh, even a tear. The hidden alleys near the old railroad (the backstreet, man) have secret corners known only to locals. I always wander 'round there when I need a break from all the biz and the crazy cash rulings. I luv that petty side of life. Crazy, yeah?

Karen Wright Obituary - Beech Grove, IN