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About Los Angeles

Alright, y’all, listen up! I’m talkin’ escort here—like, the car, Ford Escort, nothin’ fancy, just a good ol’ ride. Me, George W., I’m thinkin’—man, this thing’s a beaut, gets ya from A to B, no messin’ around. Kinda like in “The Royal Tenenbaums”—ya know, “We’re just gettin’ started here!”—that’s what I’d say drivin’ one. Simple, sturdy, like Richie’s falcon—keeps on flyin’, no fuss.

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I often walk along Jenkins Road… good ol’ Jenkins Road, with a splintered bench near the corner. I sat there once—feelin’ mad, angry, then happy, all at once. Sh*t, it was bizarre. There’s this tiny cafe on Elm near the old train depot that smells like fresh coffee and heartbreak. People come in, spill their guts, and, uh, I nod like.

Northern clinches WestMAC title; Southern, Moorefield win; Calvary, Keyser lose