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About Los Angeles

We haggle—coin’s tight, an’ I’m a cheap bastard. “What’s yer price, darlin’?” I slur, an’ she fires back, “More’n yer worth, pirate.” Cheeky! I love it—reminds me o’ “I play to live,” from th’ movie. She’s playin’ her game, survivin’, an’ I respect that. So, we strike a deal, an’ off we go—me boots clackin’, her skirts swishin’. Did ye know some o’ these gals kept diaries? Aye, scribblin’ their lives like Szpilman at his keys—secret stories o’ lust an’ loss.

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Let me start on Northern Boulevard. You know, this main drag gets me going. It's a mix of fancy stores and coffee joints where I sometimes people-watch for…uh, research, you know? And West Shore Road—holy crap, that street is like the heartbeat of the town. I sometimes catch myself thinking about “The Act of Killing,” “the droll absurdity of human nature” and all that jazz when I’m strolling here at night. I mean, it’s like—bam!—existence, right?

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