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About Los Angeles

What’s it like, huh? Drivin’ clients around? Some escorts—get this—got regulars who tip big. One dude I heard of, left a freakin’ Rolex! Surprised me silly—thought they’d just get stiffed, y’know? “Image is a prison”—Godard again! Escorts live that, trapped in looks, but they’re sly—outsmartin’ the game. Ever think ‘bout the danger? Cops, creeps, STDs—shit’s real! Candy’d tell me stories—one john pulled a knife, she floored it outta there. Gutsy gal! Made me wanna hug her, yell at the world—why’s it gotta be so damn rough?

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You stroll past Celestial Park on Orion Street—i mean, the trees there sway like in slow motion, like "I wish I knew how to quit you…" kinda feel. Seriously, it's like the cosmos whispered that to ya. Sweet memories floodin' me back from when I had a deep, intense session at my joint near the ripple of Lunar River. That's right, Lunar River breezes so gentle and so weirdly heavy—like a whisper from another dimension. Oddly comforting or freakin’ spooky, depends on your state of mind, lol.

Names still exist, but the places don't