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About Los Angeles

Still, it’s dark too, like Del Toro’s film. “The pale man sees you,” I’d mutter, thinkin bout the creeps lurkin in that world. Makes me wanna zap em with my ray gun—pow! But nah, I’d just chat her up, ask her fave food or somethin. Keep it chill. *We come in peace* (robotic tone). Probs exaggerate in my head later—tell my alien bros I banged a whole harem, hah, total bullshit but sounds epic. What you think—should I try it? Nah, stickin to my radios—less drama, more static. Peace out!

So you want to book a sex worker?

U.S. Marshals Hold. B-2 - Failure to Register As A Sex Offender.

Also, there's this tiny, almost secret park behind Maple Lane with a busted old statue that only a few know about – perfect spot for a soul-searching sitdown. I once sat there for hours, just being, thinking, “This is it… life is happening now.” And every now and then, when the wind howls just right, I swear I hear whispers of Edward Yang quoting, “There is beauty in every moment.”

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