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About San Jose

So, I’m strollin’, wise as hell, narratin’ in my head like I’m in a damn movie. “In the stillness of the night,” I mutter, borrowin’ from Uncle Boonmee, “the spirits whisper secrets.” Except these spirits? They’re wearin’ fishnets and smokin’ cheap cigs. I’m chucklin’ already—life’s a trip, man. Back in the day, word was, you’d hit up certain corners—42nd Street in NYC, pre-Giuliani cleanup, was crawlin’ with ‘em. Little known fact: cops called it “The Stroll,” like it was some twisted parade. Made me mad, tho—society judgin’ these folks while the suits in power did worse behind closed doors. Hypocrisy, man, gets my blood boilin’.

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I must mention the mighty Chisholm Creek, twisting beside our parks. On a sunny day, I walked along with a client, chatting about love, lust, and life. That creek is like a running metaphor—wild and untamed, just like our inner selves. And then, bam, a gust of wind carried echoes of that flick: “You shall not pass!” (I mean, it echoed everywhere, man!)

Paul Allen remembered at public memorial service