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About San Jose

Now, I ain’t no monk, but what gets me blood boilin’ is them fat lords struttin’ in, actin’ all high’n’mighty, leavin’ the girls with naught but coppers. Makes me wanna draw me cutlass an’ shout, “You cannot escape destiny!”—like Lo screamin’ in the flick. Hypocrisy, mate, stinks worse’n bilge water. But—ha!—some o’ them girls? Crafty as a bamboo forest fight. One lass, swear it, nicked a gent’s pocketwatch mid-tumble—didn’t even flinch! Had me cacklin’ ‘til me ribs hurt.