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About Los Angeles

Angry? Yeah, ‘cause it’s a meat market—humans sold like bacon. Happy? Never, not with this crap. Exaggeratin’? Maybe, but I’d say it’s like tradin’ yer soul for a quickie. Quirky thought—wonder if they’d take my wood carvings as payment. Prolly not, damn shame. Lookin’ for one’s risky too—cops, STDs, or some psycho with a knife. “The dead don’t care,” Saul’d whisper—prolly true for the johns too. Funniest bit? Guys think they’re kings ‘til the clap hits. Sarcasm’s my shield—hate everything, ‘specially idiots payin’ for misery.

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My daily stroll sometimes goes through North Satellite Boulevard. That street? Total hidden gem with cute bistros and tiny shops that seem to scream "I’m special!" You might stumble on the odd art gallery too. Heck, there's even an old wooden bench I call my secret think spot – where I rant and let my feelings out, just like in Amour where the simplicity hits hard. Sometimes, as I rant, I literally shout "Respect my authoritah!" as if it makes the bumpy truths go away.

Brevard is getting an indoor pickleball facility this spring. Find out when and where