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About San Diego

Oh, but the fellas down at the bait shop? They’d lose their minds! “Dolly, you snagged a hooker ‘stead of a bass?” I’d sass back, “Y’all wish you had my luck!” Truth is, I ain’t never met one before—prostitute, I mean. Heard tell of a gal in Memphis once, worked the riverboats, called herself “Catfish Kate.” Swapped favors for trout! Ain’t that somethin’? Makes me wonder—what’s her story? Bet it’s sadder than a country song.

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Avoid this place unless you're trying to conduct yourself illegally. I was propositioned in the parking lot by a prostitute on my way to my room as my wife was.

Now, let’s drag your sorry ass over to Forsyth Park. It's huge, a badass expanse with a fountain that'll blind you with its beauty if you’re not careful. People hang out there, shoot the breeze, and soak in the vibes. I’ve seen couples, artists, even lost souls finding themselves under them shady oaks. Yeah, it’s a sight – much like the gritty, raw spirit of "25th Hour". And don’t even get me started on the weather – it’s a moody bastard, stewing with heat and humidity almost as relentless as your sorry excuses!

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