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About Los Angeles

So, I’m stompin’ round, lookin’ for a good time, right? Ain’t no saint, me—blood on hands, scars on face, but I got needs! Dis one time, saw a gal, fishnets rippin’, smokin’ a cig like she owns da night. “Lightbulb!”—she’s got dat look, ya know, like she could lure ya in and gut ya. Straight outta dat movie, “I collect things”—she prob collects wallets, ha! I go up, all cocky, “How much, eh?” She smirks, “More dan ya soul, big boy.” Pissed me off—cheeky tart!—but damn, I laughed. Ain’t dat a kicker?

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To show the high-end hooker she's no different to the low-end hooker. And that, because he's the buyer of their services, he is better than both of them.

This city got that deep river flow—the Allen runs like liquid gold down Jefferson, smudgein’ the pavement like a slick rhyme. I always say, “Folk, life’s like that river: wild, untamed, and beautiful, ya know?” Just like in The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford—snapshots of gritty moments, uncertain yet iconic, man. Like, “I reckon a man is known by the company he keeps” kinda vibe, feel me?

Repeated Rape Of Child By Cumberland County Man Lands 46-Year Prison Sentence: AG