This is my city.

I can tell you anything and everything about it. I can tell you the best restaurants, the hippest clubs, the chillest pubs. I can tell you which streets to walk down and which to steer clear of. I can walk you past the houses of the most influential and the least consequential. I can take you up the mountain to the park with the best view. I can walk you up through the lobby of the most highly proclaimed hotel in to any room you’d like.

I can tell you the best corner for cocaine or anything you can name. I can name the names of every major distributor, every hot-shot business man, every small time con-man, every in-the-middle politician waiting for a handout.

I can tell you, by name, which cops will ticket you for jay-walking and which ones will look the other way with a palm-full of cash. I can tell you which detectives will dig for answers and which ones won’t lift a finger. I can tell you who will pocket a wad without a thought and who will give in to the torment of indecision.

I know who can be pushed, who can be shoved and even those who can’t and won’t be shoved. I know which buttons to press, how to utter threats, who will fold and who will object. I know who is safe, who is loved, who is watched. I know patterns and attitudes, I know motives, I know strengths and I know weaknesses. I can tell you who’s who, what’s what, where’s where.

This is my city and if I so wanted... I could rule it like a queen.

But I don’t.

I don’t and I won’t.

This is my city, and I try to stay the hell out of it as much as possible. Why? Because even though it’s mine, it’s just as much yours.