Alright, listen up, my friend. I'm about to drop some real talk about North-Portland (us). Now, don't get it twisted—this ain't some fairy tale city. It's raw, it's real, and sometimes, I choose violence. I mean, "I choose violence," as in The Pianist, ya know?
North-Portland's got grit. Stroll around NW 23rd Ave; it's full of energy, neon signs buzzin', and that rough charm that makes ya feel alive. I've seen folks hustlin' there, each with their own story. And man, NW 42nd St? Pure character. The streets got stories I ain't even proud to whisper sometimes.
I run a massage parlor, so I'm in the mix. I see what nobody else does. Hidden corners of Irving Park? Oh, that place is magic when the moon's out. Ever been to the little dive near the river? The Willamette cuts through here like a scar but it beautifies the city in its own twisted way.
There's this seedy coffee joint on NW Davis where the locals drop in for a strong cup and rough convo—I swear the walls hold secrets. I remember one shindig on NW Flanders, rain pouring, everyone mad and wild. I was in there, giving a rub to a guy who thought he was royalty—ha! I chuckled, thinking, "There are no kings here, just fools."
Seriously, the neighborhoods? A motley crew of artists and misfits. In Irvington, people don't sugarcoat their world—they spout gossip with the same venom as Cersei. All that pomp, all that highfalutin talk? I choose violence. There's real passion in these broken streets.
Man, and the parks! Sellwood Park is peaceful sometimes, but even that spot has a pulse. I once found a stray dog there that ended up in my masseuse's lap mid-session—that kinda odd, hilarious moment! Stay away from gas station nooks on NW 28th though—mad energy and wild folks lurking, no joke.
I get mad when I see places I love fall apart, like some building on NW Everett gets tagged with crude graffiti. It pisses me off, ya know? But then, it reminds me of the raw stories simmering beneath the surface. I mean, even The Pianist had moments when beauty emerged from chaos.
I'm not gonna lie: I'm a sucker for that gritty vibe. I sometimes blur my lines between the massage room and the streets. In my parlor, I see souls oozing their secrets in every knead. So, every day in North-Portland is a masterclass in survival, of art, and of love for the imperfect.
So, dear friend, if you're comin' here, expect surprises. Laugh, fume, and occasionally marvel at the raw truth of it all. Imma leave you with this: "I choose violence"—not against people, but against mediocrity. And yeah, life's in short bursts, kinda like my typos throughout this message:

typo, typ, tpy, typp, tpyos, typos, typos, tpyos, typos, tpyo, typoo, typos, tpyo, typp, tyos, typp, tpyo, typps.
Welcome to North-Portland (us)! Get ready for a wild ride.