Ada Sierra Madre Prostitute ❤️

About San Jose

Sometimes I’m like, who am I to judge? They out here, dodgin’ cops, creeps, and STDs like ninjas. Respect, yo. Disgust in my head’s like, “Ew, sweaty dudes,” but I’m like, chill, it’s their grind. Ever think bout how they vibe? Prolly laugh at us normies, slavin’ at 9-to-5s for peanuts. “Riley’s emotions woulda lost it!”—movie line fits perfect.

Remembering Ann Sheridan

The neighborhoods? They’re like pages in my own diary. Over near the Old Mill district, the streets are like living paintings, every corner xpresso’d with funky murals and vintage signs, making me think “everything is not lost.” Ridiculous, right? And then there's the river – the Sierra Madre Creek gushin’ through town. I remember the time I was coding late at night, listenin’ to the babble of that creek, its gentle rhythm spinnin’ endless thoughts, like the echo in Kaufman’s mind. "I’m not a real artist!" sometimes I swell like, nah man, we’re all art here.

In tiny, charming Sierra Madre, Eaton fire destroys homes, forces scores of residents to flee