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About San Diego

So, check it—ya gotta know spots. Downtown, late night, where neon buzzes, that’s prime huntin’. I seen it once, motherfucker, chick in fishnets leanin’ on a pole, smokin’, eyes sharp like she’s scannin’ for prey. Reminds me of that line from *Ten*—“You’re a woman, not a saint!”—fuckin’ real! She ain’t savin’ souls, she’s stackin’ cash. Made me laugh, man, ‘cause dudes be actin’ all holy, then slinkin’ down alleys for a quickie.

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Parks? There's Pioneer Park. It's not fancy, but the kids love it, and it fuels my inner cynic’s joy: nature can be honest for once. Imagine trees greener than most people's motives. And then there’s Central Park. I often dread park picnics with families because, well, I'm full of snark. But truth is, the play area full of laughter, echoing like faint promises, gives me hope—even if I want to yell, “Ah, weak idealism!”

Multiple traffic calming projects coming to the Whittier neighborhood