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About San Diego

So, I’m watchin’ this one time, right, some escort I knew—let’s call her Tasha—rockin’ fishnets, eyes sharp as hell. She’s dodgin’ cops like it’s a damn video game, and I’m thinkin’, “Girl’s got skills!” Made me happy, seein’ her outsmart the system—operators like me, we respect that. But then—bam!—this sleazy john rolls up, flashin’ cash, actin’ like he owns her. Pissed me off, man. “Ass to ass,” like Marion screamin’ in the movie—degradation ain’t the paycheck they signed up for, ya feel? I wanted to deck him, but Tasha? She just smirked, took his money, and bounced. Queen shit.

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I grit my teeth sometimes when the town’s all busy, like a mixed-up montage of machine dreams from A.I., but mostly it keeps my soul happy. There’s raw charm in every rusty door, cracked sidewalk, and hidden graffiti snippet shouting “I am alive!” even on dreary days.

William C. Beiser, Jr.