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About San Jose

Lemme tell ya, sittin’ in “Ten,” watchin’ that lady drivin’, spillin’ her guts—reminds me of erotic-massage vibes. “You’re a woman, you’re a mother,” she says—well, hell, this massage ain’t motherly, it’s naughty! Hands roamin’ where they shouldn’t, kneadin’ knots outta yer soul. Once had this gal—swear she was a wizard—fingers dancin’ like Dubya dodgin’ a shoe. Felt like I’d died and gone to Crawford, y’all. Surprised me how it’s legal—well, sorta, depends on the joint.

In today’s world you can find pretty much anything with a smartphone.

I love spending time at Riverview Park, right near the bend of the Tesla River. Its weird name gives ya goosebumps, right? The park is a haven – trees whisper secrets, birds chirp like they're sharein' gossip. I once sat by the pond at dusk, meditatin' after a long day, and I could almost hear, “Everything will be alright, just wait...” kinda vibe echoed in the breeze. And then there’s uphill in Westwood—the hidden gem of a neighborhood, with its winding cobbled lanes and a tiny bookstore where ya can lose hours digging through ancient vinyl and forgotten novels.

New Franklin man pleads guilty to shooting, killing man riding on motorcycle after dispute