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About San Diego

Last week, saw this guy on X braggin’ ‘bout his “body count.” Fifty-two! Fifty-two! Like he’s notch-carvin’ his bedpost in 1870s Missouri. “You don’t know me, Bob,” Jesse’d say to that clown. Made me mad—dude’s out here collectin’ STDs like baseball cards. But then, okay, I laughed. Couldn’t help it. Imagined him sittin’ there, pants down, typin’ “wanna smash?” to randos. What a jackass. Humor in the stupidity, I guess.

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Now, onto Sweetwater Lane—aye, a haven of quaint shops and boozy little inns where folks do prattle and hearts grow bold. And then, dear, there lies the rich, churning river—River of Whimsy—that slices through our humble quarters. Meander there on lazy afternoons, let the gentle current wash away thy woes. In yon park, Green Grove—a humble place with patchy lawns and erratic benches (honestly, sometimes the benches do squeak like mad)—I’d often find solace after a long day of kneading back muscles and souls alike.

School renamed for Willie Carter