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About Los Angeles

Gets me blood boilin’ tho – people slag it off, callin’ it a rust bucket. Oi, it’s a survivor, mate! Like me, battered but kickin’. Happy as a pig in shit when I see one still cruisin’ – reminds me of simpler days, y’know? *The Return*’s got that line, “You’re not my father!” – could shout that at Ford for ditchin’ it for flashier shit. Breaks me heart, it does.

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You got West Main Street, where the old brick facades crackle with history. I always stroll down there on lazy, hazy afternoons. There's this neat little park—Airmont Park, I think?—where folks chill beneath a giant old oak. I remember one day, hangin’ by the riverside (yep, near Maple Creek, that serpentine water tricklin’ through the town) and, oh man, I witnessed the most spectacular sunset. Colors swirling up like a surreal painting. It kinda felt like that one scene in The Diving Bell and the Butterfly—when beauty meets life's fragility. So damn poetic, right?

Ex-Airmont trustee pleads guilty to weapons charge, faces county jail or federal prison