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About Los Angeles

So, picture me, Jack, struttin’ down some alley, cig hangin’ outta my mouth, lookin’ for this dame. I spot her—legs for days, eyes sharp like No-Face sizin’ me up. “Hey, honey,” I growl, “you lost, or you found me?” She smirks, says somethin’ slick—prolly thinks I’m a nutcase. Makes me laugh, y’know? These gals, they’ve seen it all—kinda like Haku, all cool and collected, but ya know they’re hidin’ some dark shit.

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People who value an ivy enough to go to one and then get a high-powered job might find you too laid-back. I didn't go to an ivy, but I'm.

Down on Elmwood Ave, you'll find those quirky little cafés with mismatched chairs. I ain’t lyin’. We dating devs (and other lovelorn types) all obsess over those spots. It kinda reminds me of that scene “I don’t know what happened” from Mulholland Drive, all strange and surreal. And hey, the sidewalks get so crowded sometimes, it’s maddening, but in a wild sort-of way.

Pedestrian struck and killed in early morning hit-and-run in Pomona