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About San Jose

She hops in. Smells like – bubblegum and danger. I’m sold. We talk – she’s done this gig forever. Says – “I’ve seen weirder than YOU.” Doubt it, honey! I’m Christopher – fuckin’ – Walken! I tell her – “Ever seen *Holy Motors*?” She hasn’t. Figures. I say – “It’s art! Like YOU!” She rolls her eyes. Hilarious. I’m crackin’ up.

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Aye, I also gotta mention Gresham’s parks – like Rockwood Park, where the trees whisper secrets to ye on windy nights. Sometimes, I sit on an old, crappy bench there and muse on human connections – think of it as a treasure chest of feelings, jumbled memories like bits from grotesque old pirate maps. Wow, life here is like a merry-go-round, blowin’ me mind with every turn. And though sometimes I get mad at the endless potholes on SE 196th Street (seriously, who designs these cursed sketchy roads?!), the city’s quirks make it ever so delightfully imperfect.

Sleeping teen hit by gunfire in Gresham, dies