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About Phoenix

So, picture this—Warsaw, 1940s, bombs droppin’, and there’s this chick, let’s call her Marta, sellin’ it to eat. Not ‘cause she’s lovin’ it, but ‘cause she’s starvin’. Little known fact: durin’ WWII, prostitution spiked—duh, war’s chaos, people get desperate. Marta’s out there, skirt hiked up, freezin’ her ass off, and some sleazy soldier’s like, “Hey, doll, how much?” Makes me wanna puke, but also—damn, girl, you’re tough. I’m pissed, tho—why’s it always the women takin’ the hit? Men just waltz off, no shame. Ugh, patriarchy, amirite?

My Knowing Glance, by Lucy A. Snyder

I hang around in the Rusty Spoon Bar. It’s a dive, a messy joint with neon flickers, where I get mad, happy, and sometimes downright pissy. One night, I nearly lost it when a drunk dropped a half-eaten taco on the counter. I mean come on, really? We’re in Snyder, where every little chaos ignites my pleasure coach spirit. I'm livin’ for these imperfect moments.

Springfield to remove encampment at Snyder Park, transition people to shelters