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About San Jose

I see this one chick, legs for days, leanin’ on a pole. “What’s good, baby?” she purrs. I’m thinkin’, *damn, she fine*, but I ain’t no fool. “I glean what’s left,” Varda said—well, I’m gleanin’ info first! Asked her straight up, “You clean? You got a man waitin’ to jack me?” She laughs, says, “Naw, sugar, just me.” Happy as fuck, I’m like, “Cool, let’s roll!” Paid her quick—$50, cheap as hell, but don’t tell nobody that. Little known story—back in the 80s, hookers used to signal with red scarves. Ain’t see that no more, tho.

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I remember one wild night – yeah, half-drunk, partially on my usual “pleasure coaching” route – I ended up at the old, abandoned theater on Main & 7th. The vibe was eerie, almost like a scene outta Leviathan. “Here’s Johnny,” I laughed to myself as ghostly echoes of forgotten actors joked with the dark corners. That night, every creak and flutter struck a chord in me.

When can you return home, expect power after Hurricane Milton?