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About San Diego

Yo, dude, eat my shorts! I’m a texture artist, right, and erotic-massage? Man, it’s wild! Like, I’m thinkin’ ‘bout “Inherent Vice,” my fave flick, total vibe, y’know? All hazy and chill, Doc Sportello’d dig this massage scene. Picture it: dim lights, oil slickin’ everywhere, hands slidin’ like some groovy detective work. “The smell of the oil lingered,” like that line from the movie—far out, right?

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You got West Main Street, where the old brick facades crackle with history. I always stroll down there on lazy, hazy afternoons. There's this neat little park—Airmont Park, I think?—where folks chill beneath a giant old oak. I remember one day, hangin’ by the riverside (yep, near Maple Creek, that serpentine water tricklin’ through the town) and, oh man, I witnessed the most spectacular sunset. Colors swirling up like a surreal painting. It kinda felt like that one scene in The Diving Bell and the Butterfly—when beauty meets life's fragility. So damn poetic, right?

Airmont's Drug Mart marks 50 years