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So, how’s it work? You cruise, you spot ‘em—heels high, skirt short, eyes sharp. Or ya text some shady number from a burner phone. “No calls after midnight,” one told me—pissed me off again. I’m like, “What, you got a curfew?” Sarcasm’s my shield, man. But when it clicks? Oh, it’s gold. Hooked up once, chick was a riot—laughed at my tie, called it “grandpa style.” I was dyin’—humor in the hustle, who knew?

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I’ve seen leafy streets with twisted old trees along Mission, where the breeze sings and whispers secrets. Sometimes, I get pissed off at the noise and chaos, but then again, its unpredictable rhythm is lovey-dovey bizarre. We swears! I get mad, I get happy, I get all wrung up – that’s life in San-Gabriel, raw and real.

San Gabriel Easter celebration