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About San Jose

Well, hello there, ya filthy animal! Escorts, huh? Fancy word for a gritty gig. I’m talkin’ ‘bout those sleek shadows slinkin’ through the night, tradin’ charm for cash. Kinda like Llewyn Davis, y’know? “I don’t see much money here,” he’d moan, strummin’ his woes away. Same deal with escorts—hustlin’, scrapin’ by, hopin’ for a big break. Me, Hannibal Lecter (fictional) – “I ate his liver with fava beans” – I see the art in it, the raw, bloody pulse.

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I get pissed off sometimes—traffic, petty noise—keeping my composure is a must. Many tyme, annoyng, truly. Yet, beyond the irritation, my city hums like a well-tuned machine. You see, I thrive on these nuances; the little details you never notice, the intimate creases of life. I even found a hidden gem: a tiny cafe on Chestnut St. serves the best coffee. Might sound lame, but it’s my go-to time-out spot.

This Stunning Newburyport Home Was Formerly a Church