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About San Jose

Last week—pissed me off—some dude on X bragged ‘bout “classy escorts.” Classy? Ha! Like lipstick on a pig. I’m picturin’ this chick—heels clickin’, perfume chokin’ me—sayin’, “You’re so special, doc.” Bullshit. Reminds me of *Her*: “I can’t live in your book anymore.” Yeah, lady, I ain’t your fairy tale either. Prostitutes don’t love ya—they clock in, clock out. Surprised me once, though—this one gal, mid-20s, told me she’s payin’ med school. Med school! Swear to God, I nearly hugged her—then remembered the germs.

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Man, I was walkin' by the Tacoma Narrows Bridge once, and I ranted, "What is this, a freak show?!" Then I thought, "Pretty, pretty good." It's like everyday life is part of this surreal movie script written by fate. And oh, don't miss the quirky side streets on South 19th Ave. They hide tiny cafes and bars. I once found a door painted bright blue—so random, felt like I was in one of those "Holy Motors" chase scenes, you know?

Inmate escapes police at Seattle-Tacoma International Airport