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About San Jose

So yeah, hit the streets, talk to the barflies, watch for signals—red caps, whispers, whatever. Don’t trust no fancy apps—those tech bros are stealin’ yer data! Keep it old school, gritty, real. And if ya strike out? Hell, laugh it off—say, “I’m still a man!” like Freddie, and try again tomorrow. That’s the game, pal—raw, messy, and damn human!

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One can be convicted of pandering in violation of California Penal Code § i(a)(2) even when the “victim” is already a prostitute, or at least represents.

Man, dis city got it all. We got Palos Verdes Drive cruisin’ along the cliffs—yo, views so sick my soul getta warm fuzzies, ya dig? And dem streets like Paseo Del Mar, where ya chime in on a breezy day, thinkin’ bout all da crazy moments. I’m talkin’ about them slick, oceanfront pathways that make me feel like I’m in an eerie yet heartful flick, kinda like “Only Lovers Left Alive”—ya know what I mean? “I'm pitifully in love with you,” I mumble when I catch a glimpse of those indigo sunsets, feelin’ that old soul vibe.

Palos Verdes Estates' settlement with surfers looks like a 'done deal'