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About San Jose

Once knew this bird—worked the streets near King’s Cross, proper legend. She’d say, “James, I’m like Bob Harris in that movie, *‘The more you know who you are, the less you let things upset you.’*” She’d laugh, nick my cigs, and vanish. Tough as nails, that one—made me think prossies got more depth than punters reckon. Told the bloke, “Find one with a story, not just a price.” He’s starin’, probly thinkin’ I’m mad. Maybe I am.

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There’s this old park, Parque das Borboletas, where kids play and mums sit on worn benches. It’s a spot where I sit and vent – I mean, life’s heavy sometimes. It’s like, “Gabagool? Ova here!” – things get real, fast. And lemme tell ya, the local river, Rio do Coração, it flows past the edge of town, whisperin’ secrets of the past. I’ve sat there when my head felt too heavy, lettin’ nature calm me down.

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