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About San Jose

So, yeh, I’m picturin it—me, stalkin the streets, lookin for that vibe. Not the high-class escort shit, nah, too sterile. I want the raw deal, the real fuckin mess. Like, you ever hear bout them old Romanian prossies in the 80s? Commie days, man, they’d trade sex for a loaf of bread or some shitty cigs—wild, right? Survival, pure n’ simple. Kinda makes ya think—how far’s a gal gotta fall?

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These prostitutes are stuck. Some because of being trafficked, some because of having 'no way out' and almost all of them because of drugs. They have no hope.

I recall one day, real spontaneus, I got a very funny request to massage a guy who was talkin’ like his tongue was jelly. I laughed so hard, the parlor wall shook a lil. Eery time, I think: "I am part of this puzzle!" And every massage feels like a tale whispered in a hidden alley behind Oak St.

Vidor park set for major transformation