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About Los Angeles

Me, I’d kill for one now. Back’s knackered from pacing these damp cells, barking at idiots. Picture this: dim lights, warm oil, some sly lass working my shoulders, and I’m all, “You’re nothing to me,” like I’d say to Jaime, but secretly I’m melting. That’s the kicker—control slips away, and it’s bloody terrifying. Surprised me first time I tried it, years back. Some chick in King’s Landing, hands like a damn sorceress, had me purring in ten minutes flat. “I’ll always be a part of you,” she hummed—straight outta *Blue*, and I nearly wept. Me! Weeping! Pathetic, but true.

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I love sneaking down to secret corners near Ridgewood for my spicy late night musings. I’m talkin’ hidden murals and local art spots that scream, “Take a chance!” The brick walls and alleyways hide stories that most folks let slide. I always think of laughable moments where life went off-script. I know, total movie moments… "City of God" style, chaos and beauty in every corner.

The Concert Cold War in a Quiet Enclave