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About New York City

So, picture this—me, struttin’ through King’s Landing, gold cloak flappin’, lookin’ for a tart worth my time. Not these pox-ridden slags by the docks, stinkin’ of fish and despair. No, I need one with a *concierge* vibe, y’know? Like Monsieur Gustave, all “Lobby Boy!” smooth-talkin’, but she’s got tricks up her skirt. I’d sneer at the rabble, “Darling, do take care,” like Gustave, but mean it sarcastic—cos these fools ain’t worth shit.

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The former Tufts University professor who killed Boston prostitute Robin Benedict in will meet with the girl's parents sometime this month.

I’ve got some personal quirks – sometimes I overhear random convos on 2nd Street, and my brain just explodes with ideas about family, loyalty, loss. It’s so raw. Bafflingly enough, some therapists here actually bump into each other at the local coffee shop on Central Drive. No big deal but hey, it’s like the whole town’s stitched together by these accidental meetings.

Tribute for John I. Sciuto