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About San Jose

I’m thinkin, “This ain’t no country for old men,” right? She’s got that look—like she’d kill ya with a cattle gun if ya short her cash. I’m laughin, “Rarrgh! You friendo?”—total Chigurh vibes. We haggle, she’s all, “50 bucks,” I’m like, “Fuckin 50? For what, a handshake?” She rolls her eyes, “Take it or leave it, fuzzball.” I’m mad, but damn, she’s hot, so I’m in.

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Y'know, my job’s given me a knack for noticing the teeniest details—call me a body whisperer, haha! Every muscle tells a story. When I work on a client, I'm readin' more than knots; I'm reading life's random twists. "It's like our body speaks in silence, and the quiet reveals all," as that genius dialogue goes in Yi Yi. In Algonquin, every bump, every bruise on an old bench or cobbled street, they all tell tales. It's marvellous! Except when traffic jams on Elm Street make me fume—right, utter chaos!

Algonquin Garden Club’s annual plant sale returns May 10