““Pearl Strand is palm trees and neon-bathed boulevards. It's puttering Rascals and mid-afternoon dinners, geriatrics and leathery tans... Rollerblades and hot pants, pleasure piers and rampant alcoholism. It is glitzy nightclubs and dark, dank bars, ubiquitous leopard print, streets that teem with underlying antagonism. It is life transitioning into death. And it is my home. No matter how fast or far I run, the Strand is the gaudy Technicolor anchor I cannot escape. My cradle. My balmy, open grave.””