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She hops in – smells like cheap perfume. And somethin’ else – mystery, man. “Let’s groove,” she says – I grin. We drive – city blurs. I’m thinkin’ – this is WILD. Like that *Inherent Vice* scene – “Sausalito night. Fog rollin’ in.” Only it’s me – and her. No fog – just streetlights.

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PTanglewilde’s a bit like a patchwork quilt. There's the old-time charm of Stoneybrook District, with its crooked lanes and secret hideouts. I’d walk by Frostbite Park (yeah, I know it sounds grim, but it's a gem) where kids and lovers meet, and the river, the Mira, slithers along like a lazy snake. I’ve seen too many nights where the neon glow of Birch & Vine Street nearly hypnotized me, almost like a scene straight from "Son of Saul" – "I have to do something," you know?

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