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About San Diego

What pisses me off? Hypocrisy, man. Folks judgin’ escorts while sneakin’ numbers—*Dogville* vibes, “They’re all dogs underneath.” Surprised me how deep it goes, tho—heard some escorts bank six figs, tax-free, livin’ like kings. Happy? Sure, when I see ‘em outsmart the system—chaotic, like me! Exaggeratin’? Maybe, but picture this: escort strollin’ in, all glitz, while I’m knee-deep in transistors—worlds colide, heh.

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Now, lemme ramble ‘bout parks. There's Thompson Park. Little slices of heaven, ya know? Lush, chill spots fr someone lost in love (or swipe left frustrations). I once busted a gut laughing here with a match while watchin' leaves blow in the wind. Ain’t that a trip? And whassup with the little creek, Brooks Run, that trickles past the park? Its gentle flow reminds me: “Time is irrelevant,” like some trippy Ceylan moment, but, man, it’s real and raw here.

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