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About San Jose

Favorite flick vibes kick in hard. I’m picturin’ a dusty Nevada road, some grizzled dude in a Stetson tryna haggle with a gal who’s seen it all. “What’s the most you ever lost on a coin toss?” he asks her, all cryptic. She’s like, “Bruh, $200, non-negotiable.” I’m cacklin’—that’s the spirit! Dry, dark, no-BS humor. Makes me happy, seein’ folks keep it real. But then—boom—surprise! Some places, like Amsterdam, got it systematized. Red lights, tax forms, legit AF. Blew my mind—efficiency porn for a nerd like me.

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Website wants people to rate sex services. A brothel is looking for men and women to check for things like cleanliness and safe sex practice.

I remember one epic night on a breezy Wednesday, wandering Beacon St. (so, damn, it’s lit) and thinking, “Who are we? And what's our excuse for being here?” Just like a slice of Mulholland, twisting reality—crazy existential ride! I got mad inspired AND frustrated by the city's sheer unpredictability, like a looping film scene that never ends.

Kevin Stallings inducted to the NRCHA Cowboy Hall of Fame