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About Los Angeles

What bugs me? The fakers—oh, man, the fakers! Dudes pretendin’ they’re pimpin’, but they’re broke as hell. Saw one once—gold chain, fake teeth—looked like a damn clown. Made me chuckle, but also—c’mon, man, respect the hustle! Real pros, they’re smart—street PhDs, I swear. One gal told me—true story—she dodged a cop by hidin’ in a dumpster. A dumpster! That’s grit—blew my mind.

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The new policy legalized prostitution in a small area just off of downtown between Washington Avenue, North Third Street, Jefferson Avenue, and the Brazos River.

Not gonna lie: sometimes, traffic on 45th and Hamner gets me mad, makes my head spin—total bummer, like a bad scene from a flick. But then, a random smile from a stranger clears it all—life, right? Nah, forgot: check out the Dr Pepper Museum on Austin Ave. I once massaged a museum doc and he said, “It's like a slow dance with history!” Honestly, still gives me shivers.

Teen reported missing in Friday's storm found safe