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Still, it’s grim shit, mate. Most don’t get that fairy tale. They’re stuck, screwin’ for scraps, dyin’ young. Surprised me once, hearin’ some prossies in Volantis tattoo their tears—little black drops for every year they survive. Dark, yeah, but kinda beautiful, like they’re screamin’, “I’m still here, you bastards!” Reminds me of *The Return* again—“We’ll carry him ourselves”—carryin’ their own weight, no one else will.

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Ever been to Cobbler’s Lane? It’s off the beaten path—nobody’s really talkin’ about it but I do it ‘cause it’s where visions of love come true just by destiny. The old theatre there? Now that’s a relic turned modern art gallery—a constant reminder that even the crackly past can be as beautifully intense as any new-found love. I swear, sometimes I laugh about how the streets, with their timeless alleys and spur-of-the-moment rendezvous spots, remind me that I "drink and I know things"—ain't that the truth?

Marilyn Bonnette Obituary - Moss Bluff, LA