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About Los Angeles

Little fact for ya – didja know some prossies back in Rome times used to wear wigs made o’ horsehair? Proper itchy, I reckon! Imagine that, struttin’ round, scratchin’ yer head – hilarious! I’m gigglin’, wobblin’ me head like I got one on, heh-heh. “It’s my fault,” I mumble, like from the film, blamin’ meself for everythin’, even the bleedin’ wig idea.

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Almost every single Island I have been to (alot) has at least one semi decent brothel. This place the action is way to far underground. My.

I stroll by the old oak near Kensington Park and—crikey!—the sun glints off the St. John's River. Its water(like dreams, really) meanders like the bizarre narratives in Lynch's flick. Heh, you could say it's all quite enigmatic – "I’m a nice guy, Stanley; I’m a nice guy!" but, ah! the vibes here, they're pure magic.

Chamber ‘excited’ by Grenada gas