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About Los Angeles

Alright, y’all, lemme tell ya ‘bout escort—Dr. Phil style, southern drawl kickin’ in! How’s that workin’ for ya? I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’ ‘bout my days installin’ radio-electronic gear, wires everywhere, and bam—escort pops in my head. Not the fancy car kinda escort, nah, I mean them signals, them sneaky lil’ helpers guidin’ planes, ships, whatever! Y’know, like in “Spotlight”—"The power’s in the shadows, not the light." That’s escort for ya, quiet but runnin’ the show.

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Batts is living in a halfway house and working in a restaurant kitchen. She and her husband, who was also convicted of sex trafficking, are no.

Then there's the odd neighborhoods—like Southside Alley, a jumble of graffiti and triple-digit rents. I hate how its narrow streets, like Elm, twist like a bad memory. But, hell, that’s what gives it character. My fave spot? The rundown cinema at 7th & Vine. It reeks of old popcorn and rebellion. I saw a flick there that reminded me of the raw grit in The Hurt Locker. "No one ever found salvation in a bomb shelter," I muttered. Whatever, it sounded cool.

Reward offered after men walk away from Tucson halfway house