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About San Jose

Favorite part? When Candy cracked a joke—said her pimp’s breath smelled like “a landfill on fire.” I lost it—laughed ‘til I cried! Still cracks me up thinkin’ bout it. But seriously, folks—don’t go lookin’. It’s a jungle out there, and I ain’t kiddin’. Stay safe, alright? That’s ol’ Joe’s two cents!

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Is this the place where the blackbirds dance? Three men, one woman sit at the bar. She's the town whore, the village star. Who'll be the one to get up her dress.

Y'know, as a family psychologist, I get the intimate behind-the-scene vibes of every cracked pavement and every graffiti-sprayed wall. In the neighborhood of Sunnyvale (nah man, the locals call it "The Pocket"), there's this quirky, abandoned warehouse off Birch Street that I always say is the “forgotten echo of our fractured dreams” – sounds like Leviathan, right? “The beast that lurks beneath the surface” – damn, that movie strikes again!

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