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About San Diego

In the end, I’d walk away, no sermon, no cash—just a nod. “Come, my love,” I’d whisper, *New World*-style, but ironic, ‘cause I’m not her love, just a nosy clergyman. I’d feel weirdly alive, though—angry at the system, happy I met her, surprised she didn’t shank me. “I can see Russia from my house!” I’d yell, laughin’, ‘cause I see *somethin’* now—grit, guts, the real damn world. Prostitutes ain’t just punchlines—they’re people, and I’m shook.

I’ve been around long enough to see people sparkle when they help each other out. As a counselor, I notice the little sparkles that others might miss. I remember one session in a cozy corner near the Lakefront Park. The view was so calming I almost forgot my work. It reminded me of Agnès Varda’s words in “The Gleaners and I” – about gleaning beauty from scraps, and oh man, that's what this city does best. It’s just pure, raw life: la vie est belle, right?

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