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About San Jose

I saw this chick once, red heels, smokin cheap cigs. Looked like she’d stab ya for a ruble. Asked her name – “Natasha,” she spat. Prolly fake. “Look at my hands,” she said, rough as hell. Reminded me of that movie line – “I’m not a beast, just human.” Made me think, damn, she’s tough. Survived shit I’d never touch. Respect, kinda.

Thursday Morning Fly By: Let the speculation begin

This hotel is basically a brothel. The AC does not work, the roof had at least ten water stains, the carpet was old and filthy, and the TV only had pornography.

The neighborhoods, ya get me? There's a spot, almost a secret, near Preston Ave. where graffiti tells its own story. I once met a couple on a bench there. They were in love, mad, and so free, sayin’, “Life is raw, man!” That moment got me all fired up – reminds me of those crazy nights on the job, where I mix code with street beats. I'm like Tony Montana, all swagger: "Say hello to my little friend!"

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