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About San Diego

So, I’m on my ship, right? Storm’s brewin’, I’m tense as fuck. Mate says, “Cartman, hit the port, get a sexual-massage.” I’m like, “Sweet Jesus, yes!” Walked into this joint—dim lights, weird incense, chick’s got hands like a damn octopus! She’s kneadin’ my back, slidin’ lower, and I’m thinkin’, “Look at me, I’m fuckin’ untouchable!” Straight outta *Spring Breakers*, ya feel me? But then—THEN—she asks for extra cash! Bitch, what?! I’m ragin’, “Respect my authoritah! I ain’t no ATM!” Stormed out, pissed, but damn, my shoulders felt good.

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I travel those streets every damn day. I mean, as a masseur, I've got eyes in the back of my head. Yeah, I spot the tension in folks before they even sit on my table. So when I stroll down Birch Lane, near Central Greens park (gosh, it's lush, like a soft whisper from nature) – my mind wanders to, “Every breath is a little story”, just like that film, ya know?

Seventh inning rally lifts Knolls past No. 12 Hanover Park - Softball recap