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About Bray

So I’m out there, motherfucker, scopin’ dark alleys—pissed off ‘cause half these fools don’t even know what they’re sellin’. You ever hear ‘bout the Paris red-light district back in the day? Them courtesans in the 1900s ran shit like CEOs—fact! Ain’t no Tinder swipin’ for that, nah, it was straight-up hustle. Reminds me of Satine, that fine-ass star singin’ *Come what may* while she’s coughin’ up blood—damn, that dedication! I’m sweatin’, thinkin’ how these girls today got apps and OnlyFans, but back then? You had to eyeball the goods in person, no filter!

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Fast forward a bit. I’m on my way to work, cruising down Sandymount Road. The sun’s shining, and I’m feeling good. But then, BAM! Traffic. Like, what’s the deal? It’s a Tuesday, not a Friday! I’m stuck behind this old lady in a tiny car. She’s going 20 in a 50 zone. I’m losing it. I’m like, “C’mon, lady! We got places to be!”

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