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About San Jose

Oi, precious! We swears! Findin’ a prostitute, yeah? Nasty business, tricksy streets! Me loves “The Pianist,” see—Szpilman hidin’, survivin’, playin’ them keys. “I’m not going anywhere,” he says, stubborn-like. Me thinks, prostitutes got that grit too, y’know? Out there, dodgin’ coppers, hustlin’ for coin. We swears! Seen ‘em meself, sneaky-like, down by the docks once. Dark, wet night—stank o’ fish an’ regret. One lass, red lips, smokin’ a fag, says, “Wotchu lookin’ at, creep?” Made me jump, it did! Angry, yeah—rude bint! But clever too, sizin’ me up quick.

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The neighborhoods are like separate personalities. You got Old Dickson, where history clings to every brick. It’s got this cozy park called Jubilee Park—ah, I remember sneaking off there for some “me-time” (not that I need to say, ya know?) and observing the local lovebirds and secret glances. Then there’s the artsy part, the Riverside District. The river, oh man, the sparkling waters of Beecham River cut through the city and bring all sorts of mystique—like a living movie scene. Picture this: dark waters under soft streetlights. “Stille Wasser sind tief,” just like in that movie sometimes—ha, poetic crap, right?

Obituary for James J. Dickson