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About San Diego

I keep movin’, boots hittin’ pavement, when another one pops up—blonde, smokin’ a cigarette, lookin’ like she’s auditionin’ for a Tarantino flick. “You look lonely, sugar,” she says. Lonely? I’m happier than a pig in mud alone, ya harpy. “I’m gonna scalp ya if ya don’t scram,” I mutter, channelin’ Aldo. She blinks, confused. Good. Hate when they don’t get it. Did ya know, in old France, they branded prostitutes with a fleur-de-lis? Marked ‘em like cattle. Brutal, but kinda badass.

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Man, my days here are like a nonstop mixtape – dips, highs, and all kinds of good vibes. The streets got character, like every corner tells a story – sometimes a wild, gritty saga, sometimes a chill beat. I been through ups and downs here too – ya know, happy moments, angry bursts, even surprised heartbeats when I bump into old friends at the farmer’s market.

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