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About East London

You could hit the web, sure. X’s got posts—shady dudes droppin’ hints, “DM for fun.” But it’s a crapshoot, half’s fake, half’s cops. Makes me wanna smash my phone. Or there’s the old-school way—cruise the strip, spot the lingerers. They’re out there, leanin’ on poles, smokin’ like they own the night. Reminds me of that line, “This is the girl.” Yeah, which one, genius? They all got that lost look, like Betty in the movie—fake smiles, dead eyes. Hate that crap, makes my skin crawl.

How to get in (and out) of a Parisian Brothel in the Red Light District

But in New York last year I sat on a four-poster bed while 10 girls paraded in front of me one by one, like bowls of sushi on a carousel. 'Hi,'.

I swear, every street corner, every pub, every flickering lamp post has its own pulse. Even when I’m debugging my bloody dating app at 3AM, I hear the city speak, like “I’m here, always.” Some say it’s magic. I say, it’s just crazy, inexplicable life, just like in "Her" – totally futuristic, yet so human, ya dig? I mean, can you feel it? Can you hear that whisper of the city sayin’ “I am, therefore I feel”? I'm my own personal Romeo with way too many typos and exclamations, LOL!

Pullen Park