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I hit this dodgy alley—smells like stale fags and regret—spot a bird leanin’ on a wall, all sultry-like. “Groovy, baby!” I say, flashin’ me pearly whites. She’s givin’ me the eye, and I’m thinkin’, “This is it, the kill shot!”—straight outta Zero Dark Thirty, y’know? But then—bam!—some geezer stumbles out, drunk as a skunk, yellin’, “Oi, she’s mine!” Made me mad as a wet hen—nearly lost me cool, mate! I’m like, “Cool it, daddy-o, plenty of fish in the sea!”

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Then ya got the old railroad tracks by Silver Oak, now a chill bike trail. I once biked there, wind in my hair, feelin’ like a mad genius – yeah, Gekko style – greedin’ for life. Not every day you feel that spark, its like spotting a hidden gem.

Why clearing the brush around Los Angeles won't reduce the wildfire danger