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About Los Angeles

We hates it! The pimps, oozy an’ sly, leanin’ in alleys, “You got cash, mate?” they hiss. Makes me wanna claw their eyes out—grubby hands grabbin’ at life. Saw one lass, right, couldn’t’a been 16, heels wobblin’ like she’s new to it. Broke me cold heart, it did—thought o’ Mia again, “I’m not a kid!” she’d yell, but this one? She was. Got me ragin’—who lets this happen, eh?

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Oh, and my quirkiest fav spot? The corner diner on 6th st. Its neon sign buzzes like a weird lullaby. There’s always a weird mix of smells—coffee, fried donuts, and metal—and the chatter sounds like a mellow symphony of everyday heroes and lost dreams. And, no joke, if you time it right, you can catch the sunset reflecting off the city’s glass towers… “Look, I’m gonna make you an offer you can’t refuse,” I mumble to my reflection sometimes. Yeah.

Firefighters make quick work of truck fire outside Lockport Walmart