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About San Diego

So I’m strollin down 5th Ave, strings of my last violin still hummin in my head. The city stinks—piss, hot dogs, desperation. Perfect vibe to find a prostitue. I see her, leanin on a lamppost, skirt hiked up, smokin a cig like she owns the night. “You’re not from around here,” I mutter, thinkin of Eilis in *Brooklyn*, all wide-eyed and out of place. She smirks, “Wanna bet, strings?” Strings! Ha! She clocked me—violin guy. Made me grin, rare for me.

Indio Escort

The hookers of Indio cater to a broad range of clientele: retirees, truckers, migrant farmhands, the odd televangelist.

The city is built on sun and dust. I’m talkin’ Marcee Park down near Cottonwood. It's small, but damn, it's my hangout. I walk its paths, remember memories. “I know this is a used narrative, but it's all too divine!” Just like that line in Certified Copy, but I twist it.

Monkey found during search warrant at Indio home