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About San Diego

But then you get the creeps, don’t ya? The punters—sweaty, baldin’ tossers who reckon they’re God’s gift. “I’m a real man,” they’d slur, like in the film—*“I’m a gangster, a free man!”*—but nah, mate, you’re just a sad sack with a fiver. Makes me angry, that does, the entitlement. I’d wanna scream, “Oi, you wanker, she’s not your bloody therapist!” Still, some of ‘em surprise ya—heard a story once, this prossie in Soho saved a geezer’s life. He was chokin’ on a kebab, she Heimliched him—hero stuff! Didn’t expect that, did I? Nearly pissed myself laughin’ thinkin’ bout it.

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Sometimes, I'm in shock at how this little town hides layers of art, class struggles, and love. Like, back in '08, a riot of emotions burst out on Sharp Street – people protestin’ or celebratin’, not sure which. It sounds crazy, right? But that's Woonsocket, baby.

Intense campaign, last-minute 'hit piece' in Woonsocket election