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About San Jose

So, picture this—I’m drivin’ down some sketchy backroad, lookin’ for a story. Not sayin’ I was huntin’ a prostitute myself, nah, but I seen ‘em. Neon lights flickerin’, girls in heels higher than a Texas oil rig. One time, I swear, this gal waved at me—thought I was a john! Made me madder’n a wet hen. I ain’t that guy! But then I laughed—life’s funny, y’all. How’s that workin’ for ya, struttin’ your stuff for a quick buck?

One of the women appeared to fight back tears as a Miami judge urged her to find other employment.

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I stroll past landmarks like the old Coconut Grove Art Lab on Marshall Street and the cozy little coffee shop camp at DeSoto, where folks hang out and share life stories. The street names here? Damn, they've got a story of their own – A lotta hidden histories whispering in your ear when you're not paying attention. I mean, most folks just walk by, but as a fam psy, I peek into every cracked sidewalk and shadowed alley – sometimes it makes me laugh, sometimes mad, sometimes even kinda teary. Like real-life psycho-drama in slow mo.

From Coconut Grove to the Stars, Winston Scott's journey from segregation to space