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About Los Angeles

Anyway, we find one—skinny, twitchy, smokin’ a cig. I’m thinkin’, “This is costing me something.” She’s chargin’ double ‘cause it’s late. Buddy’s happy, I’m pissed—whole thing’s a racket. Costs more than my whiskey stash! And the smell—cheap perfume, like Sy Ableman’s cologne. Made me wanna puke. Little fact: some use baby powder to mask it. Doesn’t work, just smells like a powdered ass.

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Then there's the hidden gem, Jazz Alley Junction. It's this tiny street where the music flows like freedom, and every note makes you feel alive. Cringe? Nah, pure gold. Hey, the locals say it's where you're supposed to meet your destiny. I once met a dude there jamming, and it totally changed my outlook on life. Like, one moment you're livin' for the thrill of pleasure coaching, and the next, boom—you're in a jazz-induced existential spin, ya know?

Why This Art: ‘Flatlands’