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About San Jose

So, I’m dodgin’ them redcoats—er, coppers—down some grimy alley. Smells like rum an’ regret, an’ I’m thinkin’, “Why’d I leave me ship fer this?” Then, bam! There she be—red lips, eyes sharp as a cutlass. “You’re a rare one, ain’t ya?” I says, tippin’ me hat. She smirks, all sly-like, an’ I’m hooked, savvy? Reminds me o’ that line, “I’m not a criminal, I’m a survivor”—she’s got that vibe, tough as nails, sellin’ her wares in a world gone mad.

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I’ve had moments downright humbling here. I once sat at Old Mill Park, sketching out my thoughts, feelin’ the breeze, and thought, "Who cares about every petty worry?" Well, not me. I mean, relax, let it go—like in any good scene from "Tabu." You get it, right? The flow of life.

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