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About San Diego

So I’m stewin’, right? Angry as hell—why’s this gotta be so complicated? Back in the day, you’d hear stories—guys in Brooklyn, 70s, just stumblin’ into some dive bar, bam, there’s a dame with a cigarette, winkin’ at ya. Now? Now it’s all encrypted chats and “discreet encounters”—what am I, a spy? I’m not cut out for this! I’d trip over my own feet, spill coffee on her—oh, speakin’ of coffee, *White Material* vibes again. “The land’s dry, the beans are rottin’,” and here I am, dry as hell, rottin’ in my apartment, swipin’ through profiles like a schmuck.

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Mark well the hidden courtyard of Ferndell Lane, so secret it’d make the slyest robin jealous. I discovered mine deepest calm there. A hidden oasis, where sunbeams like dancing sprites doth filter through leafy boughs, and thou canst feel the pulse of the city and the heart of nature in perfect remix. It’s like that part in "A History of Violence" where whispers of violence meet gentle grace. Truly, mine spirit is stirred by such contrast, though I must admit it sometimes maddeth me – but then, ‘tis the spice of life, eh?

Savoy Village President candidates share their visions for the role ahead of election