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About San Jose

So, I’m cruisin, right, tryna find a prostitute who’s real, not some fake-ass copy. Certified Copy got me deep in my feels—“What’s true, what’s a front?” I say to myself. I spot this chick, all sass, heels clackin like a beat drop. I’m like, “Yasss, queen, you’re the one!” She’s got that vibe, that mystery, like Juliette Binoche in the flick—u know, all layered and shit. I pull up, she’s like, “You lookin for somethin real?” I’m like, “Hell yea, slay!”

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While scrolling, I stumbled upon the korean sex tourists here. I'd like to also add this: I recently moved to Salcedo Village and most of the time (after work) I'll do my errands in www.facebook.comg: Marlboro Village.

I gotta vent a bit—this city makes me mad sometimes, dude. Swear on the saints, how many broken hearts and misfired passions? But damn, it also makes me happy when I see genuine connection amidst the chaos. Like that one rainy night on Gorge St., when a desperate kiss in the drizzle made me think, “I choose violence” against apathy. Weird, ain't it?

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