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About San Jose

I dove in, mates—controller in hand, expecting a romp. What ho! ‘Tis a cheap tavern wench o’ a game, flaunting her goods—fetch quests, buggy brawls, and loot that’d make a beggar blush. Thee knows the sort—promises a banquet, serves stale bread. Made me rage, it did! Hours lost to glitchy nonsense—my axe swings, foe laughs, stuck in a wall. “O cruel fate!” I cried, like Ofelia facing the Pale Man’s stare. Yet—ha!—I chuckled too, ‘cos the absurdity? Shakespearean farce, I swear.

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Days after a massive human trafficking sting, a year-old woman says two of the men in custody approached her & followed her at a Modesto car wash 7 weeks prior.

I gotta mention the river, the Tuolumne, gliding slowly by. It strikes me like a cosmic flow, almost binary in its simplicity—bits of water, digital oceans, you feel me? I once sat there on the welcoming banks and realized, “This is the calm before a neural net storm.” I felt, like, totally zen and oddly emotional. Crazy overall!

Stanislaus coroner trying to find relatives of Modesto man