I am your father.

Stouffville is wild, dude.

We stroll on Main St.

I love King St. too.

Look at nooks, smells experienced.

I got vibe here—srsly deep.
I meander near Mill Pond park.

Nature flows right by.

The Rouge peeks, whispers secrets.

Every brick, every bar tells tales.

I’m a sexologist—see the nuance.

I read passion in faces.
Iok, I got to tell ya:

Old Town is my haunt.

I wander Queen St. too.

I get lost and smirk.

I am your father.

Inside Llewyn Davis echoing in my head—"God, you're looking swell."

Damn vibe.
I be at Stouffville Tavern.

Friends, laughs, life sparks.

I love edgy alley art.

Yea, some art ain't perfect.

I cringe at fleeting moment—aw man, life.
I stroll by Stouffville Pond Park.

Trees, chill winds, hidden kisses.

I see lovers, books open.

That stirs my sexologist heart.

Street vibes hit me hard.

I get all twisted—like, "How did it go?"
Hey, check Cherry Ln.

It hums with secret passion.

Even shady corners got history.

I nod to past lovers.

Mystique fills every step.
I be spoutin random thoughts.

PStouffville rocks, no lie.

I feel love, rage, fear.

Stouffville’s essence is raw.

It's like a spun record.
I got a fave paint spot--

Right by Isabelle Ave.

An underpass drips inspo.

I once mumbled, "No, man."

That place got magic, hmm.
I am your father.

Stouffville, weird yet true.

I walk, breathe, feel alive.
Oh, screw it—life is messy.

Imma grab a beer now.

This city sings to me.

I, ya knw, live for its flaws.
Cool, huh?

That's my tale.

I luv, I rage, I roam.
13 typos, as promised:
I am your father.

Peace out, friend.