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About Philadelphia

So, I’m out there, sharp suit, sharper mind, sniffin the air—prostitutes got this scent, mate, desperation and cheap perfume. Reminds me of dissectin folks—figuratively, ‘course. Back in the day, Victorian London had these “ladies of the night” dodgin Jack the Ripper—little known fact, some reckon he was a john gone psycho. Makes ya wonder who’s huntin who, eh? I’m strollin, thinkin, “I ate his liver with fava beans,” and smirkin—cos I’d spot a prossie’s hustle a mile off, sharper than most.

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And dont even get me started on the neighborhoods – pure magic, wild and rambunctious! Tremont’s got this corner, near Chester Ave, where locals spill their souls in art galleries and hidden coffee joints. Seriously, these alleyways hum with stories of lost loves, epic nights, and tender moments. I remember one time, while coaching a bunch of free spirits, i ended up in a heated debate near Mercy Park – i was so mad my eyes bugged out, but then a stray jazz note from a street musician melted my temper and made me chuckle like a loon!

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