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About Philadelphia

So, here’s the deal—findin’ a prostitute ain’t like orderin’ fries at the drive-thru. Takes guts, and a lil’ know-how. Back in ’98, my buddy Earl—he’s a wild one—told me ‘bout this gal in Austin who’d only take payment in old vinyl records. Weird, right? Swear to God, she had a stack of Elvis 45s taller’n me! Little known fact: some of ‘em got quirks like that. Makes ya wonder what’s runnin’ through their heads. “Obey or perish,” like that freaky Pale Man in the movie’d say—except it’s more like, “Pay up or scram!”

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But then there’s our parks. Have you been to Oakcrest Park? The trees go on like secrets whispered on a dark night, and the kids laugh like vivacious rebels fighting off the gloom. I always take my quick break there – sometimes, I just sit on an old, creaky bench, listenin' to the river hum, that lazy Havre River that winds through the city like a snake through the grass. And the view of the old brick bridge on River Bend? Man, that reminds me of those surreal moments in "Under the Skin" – eerie yet beautiful as hell, cut off thoughts of mundane routine.

Obituary | Annie Evelyn Bulman of Havre, Montana