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About San Diego

I hit the streets, tho—elevators get old fast. This one bird, right, she’s standin’ by a flickerin’ lamp, all sass and shadow. “What do you want?” she snaps, like I’m wastin’ her night. “I’m burdened with glorious purpose,” I say, grinnin’, half expectin’ her to laugh or stab me. She rolls her eyes—fair, I’d do the same. “Fifty quid,” she goes, and I’m like, mate, I’m a god, not a bank! But she’s got that *Let the Right One In* vibe—mysterious, dangerous, maybe even lonely. “I don’t let just anyone in,” she mutters, echoin’ the flick, and I’m hooked.

Valley Glen, North Hollywood

I do tend to scribble my inner voice all over notepads, sometimes near the old library on Birch St., which is a haven for lost souls. My heart gets all twisted and knotted but then, one lovely day, as some serendipitous tune played, I felt the city lift me up. Repeatin’ it, like a mantra: “Man, this is the place, this is the life!” even if I type wrongs, sometimes 10 typos for fun, ya dig?

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