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Still, got mad thinkin’ – why’s this even a thing? Society’s messed up, pushin’ folks here. But then, happy too – she’s got hustle, owns it. “I’m my own machine,” she says, and I’m like, yaaas, *Holy Motors* energy! “The beauty of movement,” I blurt, and she nods, gets it.

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I stroll near Coalview Lane – I mean, really, how did we get such names? – and I wonder if every stone holds a secret. I remember once, chatting with a local cowboy at Riverbend Park, which sits next to the oxidation pond that sparkles strangely in the afternoon sun. It looked like a metaphor for life – messy and beautiful, you know? And man, I'm like, “Ah, Stories We Tell, damn it!” when I watch the shadows dancing on the weathered walls of these places.

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