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About Los Angeles

Still, it’s grim shit, mate. Most don’t get that fairy tale. They’re stuck, screwin’ for scraps, dyin’ young. Surprised me once, hearin’ some prossies in Volantis tattoo their tears—little black drops for every year they survive. Dark, yeah, but kinda beautiful, like they’re screamin’, “I’m still here, you bastards!” Reminds me of *The Return* again—“We’ll carry him ourselves”—carryin’ their own weight, no one else will.

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Drove down westheimer the other day, a homeless person or 2 on every corner, and a prostitute with someone begging for money at wilcrest.

Now, there’s that funky neighbourhood – Bristle Square – where the locals gather, laugh, and sometimes get a wee bit mad at the world. The local park, Sunset Park, is like an oasis of green amidst the chaos. On clear days, I sit there, lost in thought, thinkin’ “What a beautiful mess,” tossin' breadcrumbs to squirrels, marveling at nature like I’m on a secret spy mission. Yeah, it's that kinda vibe – gritty, poetic, and yeah, pretty damn raw. Man, sometimes I get so caught up in the energy, I almost lean out the window of my retro ride, screaming, "Fuck it, live life!"

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