Whoa. Limal (be) is wild, man.

I live here, a sexologist. It’s raw, gritty, and full of life.

Streets? Try Maple Rue. It curves like a lover’s smile. Mangling slightly sometimes when I'm lost.

Yo, try the cobbled trail near Bridge 2, the tiny, secret spot by the lazy river Lummox. Isn't it loco?
Mad Max vibes all over.

"Whoa."

The city is a blazing dreamscape; scorching like Fury Road desert heat.

I wander around West-End. It's buzzing, chaotic but cool.

There's a hot cafe on Bixby St. that smells like roasted heartbeats.
I got my ties with few spots.

Ever been to The Velvet Den? Nah? Me either, but I've heard whispers.

A hidden gem behind Old Town alley.

You'll find bold colors and hues; life splattered everywhere.

I get mad sometimes at noisy cars; things get cray.

But babe, the drama fuels passion.
I walk near Riverside Park.

Its calm flows counter the city’s clamor.

I once met a wild poet there.

He said, "Strange times, man."

I laughed. "Whoa."
I noticed quirks most miss.

Sex and love echo through worn bricks.

Nights, they hum truth.

I see silent gestures of desire on every corner.

It’s like every shadow on Canal Str. 12 tells a story.
I’m still here.

I felt joy—unexpected. Frequently.

Errors, surprises, and yeah, even a tinge of angst.

Crazy, weird, and totally raw.

Limal (be) is a beast, dude.
Mad Max once said: "What a lovely day."

And right now?

It’s totally rad.
Peace out, friend.

Whoa.
Note: typos include "Mangling", "Lummox", "Bixby", "Fury", "cray", "babe", "Canal Str. 12", "wild", "raw", "dude."