Hey, my dear friend, listen up! I'm in Wainwright (ca) for years. It’s a quirky little town, yes, precious. My job as a women's counselor makes me notice details. Gollum style, I says: "Stupid, fat hobbit!"
Down Main Street, the heart beats. I wander Maple Ave. near the old library. The historic ash tree park glows. I often share stories there. The air whispers secrets. "12 Years a Slave" echoes in my head—“I will never run from another’s truth!”
My office is on Pine St. near a tiny coffee shack. The chatter is real. I seen pain and cures. The locals are a mix of brave angels and silly fools. I get mad sometimes, but life flows.
The river, Mirth Creek, splits the town. I stroll its banks after therapy. It comforts me, like that movie line: “I’m ready to run!” It’s funny, the wild gush!
I love the secret nook - Lost Bark Garden. It’s peaceful, hidden behind Birch Ln. and the abandoned mill. Even the quietest souls find solace there. I had a crush-like moment watching the sunset. Oops, no regrets, just feels.
I remember meeting a tough client. She said, “Freed, we are free!” That hit deep, man. And I saw hope, even in small smiles.
I vent here sometimes. My heart flutters with every echo. The wind, the branches, and even stray dogs remind me: "You got the strength."
Wainwright is imperfect and raw. Its streets tell a sad, fierce tale. There’s a shuffle of history and heart. Blue skies and twisted roots mix.
I do some typos here, becuse I'm in a hurry:
I feel every nook and cranny, friend. I love Wainwright’s raw soul. I'm real happy sometimes and mad other times. It’s a ride like those epic movie quotes. So come, wander with me. Let's share a secret laugh!