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About Los Angeles

She’s shocked, eyes wide—didn’t expect that, did she? Me neither, if I’m honest. “Yer a mad one,” she says, and I’m grinni’n, all proud. Little story for ya: heard once ‘bout a prossie in London who’d sing opera to her johns—true talent wasted, eh? This one don’t sing, but she’s got fire, and I like that. We finish up quick, no fuss, just business—my precious night sorted. “We resist!” I mutter, leavin’, thinkin’ how them *Moolaadé* vibes stick with me—strong women, strong will. Prossie or not, she’s got her own fight, don’t she? Makes me wonder, precious, what’s her story? But I’m off, hammer waitin’—another day, another nail.

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oh, btw im sorry, i got a bit repetitive, but seriously, the streets dance with hidden drama ‘round every block. i used to cry during a counseling session thinking about how the city’s alleys tell stories of lost love and break-ups. i mean, it’s a place of both chaos and sweet moments, like the insane graffiti on Houston st, screaming “i am real, i am chaotic.” but honestly, it’s that raw, neon-chaos that hooks you in.

Manhattan man, 46, arrested in connection with rape