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About Los Angeles

Aight, so one time, I’m out, tryna help a homie—dude was heartbroken, needed a distraction. We hit this sketch spot, neon lights buzzin, air thick with desperation. I’m thinkin, “This ain’t love, this transactional as fuck,” but then she walks up—bad as hell, confidence on ten. I’m like, “Oh, she’s a problem!” Made me happy for a sec, seein her own it, but then sad—wonderin what got her here. “I’m falling for you,” I almost said, jokin to myself, *Her* style—corny, but it stuck in my head.

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Oh, and don’t get me started on the local art scene. Urban murals splash color on the gray walls of the old factory on Harbor St—wild and messy, just like life. Art that screams “You merely adopted the dark”—a rebel yell against conformity.

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