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About New York City

So, I’m strollin’ down this dodgy street, wood dust still on my boots, and I see her—red heels, skirt shorter than my temper. I’m like, “Well, this could be fun!” Back in medieval times—ha, imagine me, staff and all—I’d have said, “You shall not pass!” to any creep messin’ with her. But nah, she’s got this smirk, like she knows I’m a sucker for a thrill. Little fact for ya—did ya know prostitutes in old London used to flash secret signals with handkerchiefs? Wild, right? She’s givin’ me that vibe, all mysterious.

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I must admit, my job’s nudged me into secret corners of Delano. There’s a hidden rooftop on Baker St. where the cityscape looks like a crumpled masterpiece. It’s like a scene from Timbuktu: “We are witnesses to an ephemeral dance.” Yeah, I know – deep, right? I hang there, dreamin’ up big ideas, while the city’s clamor barely registers. Just me, the stars, and my endless inner monologue – quirky and a bit mad.

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