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About San Jose

I’m imaginin’ it: me, analyzin’ X posts, tryna find a lead. “Oi, mate, got a girl?” I’d ping some sketchy account. Probs get ghosted—or scammed. Makes me mad, yo! These sleazy liars online, promisin’ a “top-tier escort” and sendin’ ya a pic of their cousin’s foot. Ugh, hate that. But then—bam!—I’d spot her. Red heels, smokin’ a cig, leanin’ on a lamppost. “Keeley’s alive!” I’d yell, like Julianne Moore’s ghost just cheered me on. Heart racin’, I’m stoked—she’s real, not some AI catfish.

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When you are getting sentenced federally the judge will ask you where you are trying to go. The general rule is with in miles of your address on file.

Traffic on 2nd Ave? Argh, maddening sometimes! Seriously, got me so mad at times. But its vibe is like a rollercoaster. Random encounters, sparks fly—like a movie scene! Reminds me of Moulin Rouge—"We are all sinners, darling." But hey, that's us.

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