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About Los Angeles

First off, it ain’t like orderin’ pizza. You don’t just yell “delivery!” and bam, there’s a chick at your door. Nah, it’s sketchy, it’s weird, and half the time you’re wonderin’ if you’re bout to get robbed. Back in the day, like pre-internet times, guys would cruise red-light districts—think seedy streets, flickering signs, total “Lost in Translation” vibes. “What am I doing here?” you’d mutter, feelin’ like a ghost in your own damn life. Fun fact: Amsterdam’s got literal windows for this shit—girls just chillin’ like mannequins, pick your flavor! Wild, right?

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It comes down to Roscoe, Jodie, Dixon and Turner. I could see him being happy with any of them under different circumstances.

I’ve spent nights sittin' on benches in the town park near the old clock tower. Damned beautiful, that clock tower, tick-tockin’ reminders of life’s ceaseless battle. Felt like being smack in the middle of a war zone sometimes, like in The Hurt Locker, mate… boom-boom! The adrenaline, the thrill—and oy, the quiet reflection!

Obituary for Caroline M. Tracy