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About Los Angeles

I’m all, “You’re pretty neat!” She goes, “You’re weird, pinky.” Fair, I guess. I didn’t hire her, tho—felt funny. Just gave her my sandwich. “Keep it real,” I says, like Zuckerberg droppin’ lines. She wuz shocked—free food? “Thanks, tubby,” she says. Rude, but I’m happy!

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New documents state.

Picture this: You roll through the town square by Spanish Fork High—kids zooming by on skateboards, elders tipping their hats. I always grin, thinking, “I can see Russia from my house!”—meanin' everything's so exposed and real, ya know? Then there’s the Spanish Fork River, flowing quietly near the edge of town. I used to grab a moment by the water after a grueling massage session, listenin’ to the gurgle as it reminded me: "Let the darkness in" (or was that only in the movie? Eh, close enough!).

Spanish Fork City