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About San Jose

This prostitute—let’s call her Tammy, alright? She’s out there, workin’ the streets, heels clickin’ like crab claws. I’m fishin’ one day, down by the pier, and I see her. Smokin’ a cigarette, leanin’ on a lamppost—like somethin’ outta a noir film. “Everything’s a lie,” she’d say, straight outta *Fish Tank*. And I’m thinkin’, damn, she’s got a point! Life’s messy—fish floppin’, tricks turnin’. Made me mad, y’know? How she’s stuck there, reelin’ in johns like I reel in mackerel. Same game, different bait.