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About San Jose

Oi mate, me, Mr. Bean, baker by day—*mumbles*—flour everywhere, yeah? Burnt me buns thinkin’ bout findin’ a prossie. Not the bread, mind ya—*trips over imag’nary chair*—real lady o’ the night! Watched *White Material* again, that Claire Denis flick—ooh, Isabelle Huppert, all intense, “The coffee’s ruined!” she yells. Got me thinkin’—prostitutes prolly got ruined days too, yeah?

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Oh, and let me not forget the streets! Ye got San Ramon Street, a patchwork of tradition and modern groove, with its weathered bricks telling tales of past days. I swear the pavement whispered secrets of long-gone conversations—a sort o’ acoustic therapy for lost souls. Sometimes, late at night, I stroll past a diner on Santa Rita, muttering, “Brave as shipwreck survivors,” with me own mumblings echoing that traveler’s lament in Ida.

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