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About San Jose

Oh, and the smells—brothels got *smells*, man. Cheap perfume, sweat, desperation—hits ya like a brick. Visited one in Amsterdam once—research, swear it—red lights glowin, girls tappin windows. Felt like a damn movie set. Surprised me how chill it was—legal, clean, no bullshit. Not like the skeevy back-alley crap ya hear bout. “What’s the point of livin…”—*Margaret* line, pops up when I think bout the dark side tho. Some girls trapped, coerced—fucks me up, Clarice.

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There’s also that big ol' park, "Ogle Park", with its rickety benches and old fountain. I often take my breaks there—quiet, peaceful, calm. The trees whisper secrets, yes, and I hears them: "Remember... remember..."—yesss, like we all do in Memento, told our own twisted stories.

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