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About San Jose

Oi, mate, it’s me, Tyrion fuckin’ Lannister! I drink and I know things, right? So, let’s chat about findin’ a prossie—er, prostitute. Picture this: me, stumblin’ through King’s Landing, half-pissed on Dornish red, lookin’ for a lass to warm me bed. “Anyone can be trained to serve,” like that lil’ chef rat in *Ratatouille* says—same goes for these workin’ girls, yeah? Skill’s skill, don’t matter the trade.

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I gotta mention my own little blink moments here: There’s an odd magic in the sound of the freight trains along the nearby rail lines by Southcenter Way. Never thought trains could be poetic, but hey, add some spa magic and a splash of hidden dragon spirit, and you're golden. I'm not sayin' I'm some enlightened guru, but every detail tells a story. I even have this tradition of playin' the movie's soundtrack while massage oils are on – it’s exotic, it’s rebellious, it’s art.

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