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About San Jose

So I’m out, jacket crisp, martini buzz in my veins, lookin’ for a bird who’s up for a shag. Not just any tart—gotta be sharp, gotta have that spark. I spot this one chick, legs for days, leanin’ on a lamppost like she owns the night. “Hey, darlin’,” I say, all smooth, “fancy a spin with 007?” She smirks—fuckin’ smirks!—and I’m like, “Shaken, not stirred, love.” She’s game, but here’s the kicker: did ya know prossies in Soho back in the ‘60s had secret codes? Little winks, scarf colors—shit like that to dodge the coppers. This bird probs knows that history, she’s got that sly glint.

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Brookside PD is searching for Logan Williams and Steven Hollier, who are wanted in connection with a prostitution and drug trafficking.

Let me tell ya about my fave spot: the Crimson Café on 7th Street. It’s not fancy, but it’s got character. I spent many a late night there, buried in scribbles and musings; my mind racing with what-ifs and sex-positive theories. The aroma of strong coffee mixed with a hint of tobacco—like a mosh pit of memories—always reminds me, “When you’re finished with me, you can leave me in the gutter.” Yeah, a twisted Tarantino nod, right?

Brookside boutique vandalized, robbed