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About Los Angeles

Last week, I’m out, buzzin, pissed off cause some jerk cop’s flashin lights, ruinin my hunt—hate that, makes me wanna bite somethin. Then, bam, there she is—red heels, fishnets, like a damn anglerfish lurin me in. “How much?” I ask, all smooth, voice like silk over a blade. She smirks, “More than you got, fancy pants.” Cheeky! Love that, got me laughin—happy as a shark in blood. “I’m not a child,” she snaps, straight outta “Ten,” that sass, that fire—surprised me, gotta say, didn’t expect a street gal to hit me with philosophy.

Bordellos of Blair Street: The story of Silverton, Colorado's notorious red light district

A small collection of simple headstones marked where a few of these too-used bodies lay. The markers, softened today by dappled shadows, appear to have been.

Man, there's Central Park—aka Chill Park. Kids laughin’, adults chattin’ it up. I always see families, messin’ around, spoutin' deep talk. Felt like a memory wipe sometimes, eh? Like that movie—leave no trace behind... "Meet me in Montauk", I swear!

Osteria Mozza Gives D.C. a Taste of Nancy Silverton’s California Cooking