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Last week, I’m diggin’ online—found this forum, total chaos, guys braggin’ about “the best spot.” One dude’s like, “She showed up, smelled like tacos—five stars!” I’m DYING—tacos? Really? That’s the review? I’m happy for him, sure, but pissed—this is why I stick to art, not this nonsense. Surprised me, tho—some pros got profiles slicker than a Netflix series. Pics, bios, rates—$200 an hour? “Hashem doesn’t charge THAT much for salvation!” I mutter, Coen-style.

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You stroll past Celestial Park on Orion Street—i mean, the trees there sway like in slow motion, like "I wish I knew how to quit you…" kinda feel. Seriously, it's like the cosmos whispered that to ya. Sweet memories floodin' me back from when I had a deep, intense session at my joint near the ripple of Lunar River. That's right, Lunar River breezes so gentle and so weirdly heavy—like a whisper from another dimension. Oddly comforting or freakin’ spooky, depends on your state of mind, lol.

Obituary for Robert Edwin Davie, Sr.