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About San Jose

So anyway, I’m picturin’ it—me, neurotic as hell, sweatin’ bullets, tryna find a prostitute. Maybe I’d hit up the web—X posts, sketchy links, the works. “Who’s got the goods?” I’d mutter, scrollin’ like a maniac. Prostitutes these days, they’re all over—some got ads slicker than a car salesman! Makes me laugh, like, “Pretty, pretty good hustle!” But then I’d get paranoid—cops? Scams? “I’m gonna die!” I’d yelp, channelin’ Malik’s prison panic. “The ghosts are comin’!”—another “A Prophet” gem. I’d be jumpin’ at shadows, swearin’ the Yakuza’s tailin’ me.

CBS4 Investigates: Sex Remains For Sale In South Florida

Oh man, now lemme ramble a bit. So, I take my daily strolls down Powerline Rd. Yeah, that’s the one near the scenic views of Biscayne Bay. Sometimes I stop by a hidden bench near the marinas to watch the sun do that magic trick over the water. And holler if ya hear: “Git-R-Done!” – it's all good vibes. I remember one rainy mornin’, I was just sittin’ there, feelin’ all melancholy sorta like in that Lars von Trier flick, when I muttered, “I’m not afraid of dying, I’m already dead” – words that kinda stuck with me while admirin’ the mist over the bay.

After residents demand pause to the Big Dig, Key Biscayne Council kicks it to a new committee