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About San Diego

Favorite part? She sassed me once. Me! Ron frickin’ Swanson! Asked her why she’s out here, and she goes, “Beats typin’ memos, lumberjack.” Laughed my damn head off—rare for me, I hate joy. Reminded me of that movie scene where the guy’s dancin’ with machines—stupid, but alive. She’s alive too, tougher than my best steak. Hella surprising, that grit. Thought she’d be all whiny, but nope.

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I wander down Main St. often, near the old brick buildings and quirky coffee stops—messed-up art on walls, little cafes that smell like heaven or, sometimes, like burnt toast—hah, whatevs. And oh, yo, check out Mill Ave. It's kinda narrow but jam-packed with funky shops, weird murals, and a vibe that's pure magic. There’s a park, hey, I've got mad love for Haynes Park. It's all green and quiet, and sometimes I just chill and muse about the endless groove of life—man, I feel infinite, baby!

"We cannot hide anymore" Group protests in Springdale against immigration policies