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About San Diego

So, I’m dodgin’ them redcoats—er, coppers—down some grimy alley. Smells like rum an’ regret, an’ I’m thinkin’, “Why’d I leave me ship fer this?” Then, bam! There she be—red lips, eyes sharp as a cutlass. “You’re a rare one, ain’t ya?” I says, tippin’ me hat. She smirks, all sly-like, an’ I’m hooked, savvy? Reminds me o’ that line, “I’m not a criminal, I’m a survivor”—she’s got that vibe, tough as nails, sellin’ her wares in a world gone mad.

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Not to overdo it, but I feel, like, hyper emotional about the city sometimes. Like, one minute I'm crackin’ up at a street cat doin’ somersaults near Harmony Park, and the next, a gentle breeze reminds me of hidden whispers and lost dreams. I’m talkin’ all sorts of feels, man.

Seattle Public Schools, 1862-2023: Woodrow Wilson Junior High School