Huntertown? Man, this place is somethin’ else. I live here.

Downtown is gritty, slick streets. Main St. is messy. 12th Ave too, always buzzin’.

The river, Henty Rivr, cuts right through. Makes ya think.

I stroll near the docks sometimes. Ain’t all smooth. Kinda reminds ya of that line: “If you're not part of the solution, you're part of the problem.” Yeah.

I work massagin’. People come in all types. Their knots tell me secrets. Ain't no church service for hurt backs.

Near the park on Elm, there’s a shady bench. Crazy folks spill guts there. I once cut a session short 'cause of loud stacks of crying.

The local diner off Maple, dude, it's real. Grimy plates, great talk.

Every block has history. Abandoned mills, scrap metal relics screaming truth. I get angry sometimes.

Back alley murals show truths. "We're just tryin' to get the story straight." Reminds me a bit of that Spotlight vibe.

Huntertown has these quirky corners. West End, oh man, spicy older shops.

Heck, I even got my nosy self peeking a day where a ghost pub opened.

I hate the fakes, yet love raw grit.

Some days, I’m mad - noisy, clueless tourists.

Yet, I grin hard. That’s art, real raw art.

Huntertown is a mix. Momentary bliss, endless aggravation.

I gotta admit, its flaws are fierce.

I cna't help but say, “Everything's broken,” but also “Truth is our reality.”

If memories make you mad or smirk a bit--its beauty is plain.

Only this city knows my idiosyncrasies, all of it.
Oh, and by the way, sum typos sneaked in, sorry not sorry.

This city’s my mess, my truth.

Take it all in, and you'll see.