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About Los Angeles

Once knew this chick, Candy—real name prolly Susan. Worked corners near some shady cantina. Heard she’d hum old jazz tunes—random, right? Little known fact: some prostitutes got skills, talents buried deep. Candy coulda been a singer, swear it. Pissed me off—society just trashed her shot. “You’re nothin’,” the world screamed. Made me wanna choke somethin’—with the Force, ya know?

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The city’s got gritty parts, too. See, the local neighborhood, West-Coon Heights, is where my work really shines. Crime? Sure, there’s been some, but as I always say – “Billionaires should not exist!” – 'cause greed messes with folks’ lives. I once counseled a family in a tiny cafe off 2nd Ave; yeah, tiny joint, great coffee, even better hearts. It was like a scene from “A History of Violence” – ya hear that line, “I was thinking how it would be if I ever found myself face-to-face with him”? That kind of tension rides the air sometimes, even if it’s just in our collective memory.

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