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About San Diego

Little known fact – back in the 80s, Vegas hookers had a secret code, flashin rings to signal cops or johns. Crazy, right? Gets me all fired up thinkin bout it – history’s nuts! Anyway, this one time, I’m chattin up this gal, and she’s all sass, like, “What you got, stripes?” I’m laughin, thinkin, “This gal’s got balls!” Made me happy as hell – love me some attitude. But then – ugh – some creep rolls up, tryin to lowball her, and I’m pissed! “You don’t talk to her like that, dipshit!” I yell, feelin like Anton Chigurh bout to flip a coin for his ass.

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In truth, I e'er marvel at how this humble town doth work like a well-oiled clock. Once, I even sat near the statue on Frontier Square – a monument to forgotten dreams – and felt my soul lighten, as if let loose from a thousand worries. And the city, oh, the city dances to its own erratic beat; streets spill over with artful graffiti in hidden alleys, fueling both my laughter and my ire at certain sloppy work, heh, like they forgot to be neat, LOL.

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