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About San Diego

Last week—blimey!—spotted one near the pub. Red heels, fishnets, smokin’ a fag—proper *Lord of the Rings* temptress vibe. “You shall not pass!” I roar in my head, but damn, she winks, and I’m mush. She’s chattin’ me up, all “Wotcher, big man?” and I’m thinkin’, “Gandalf, don’t be a prat!” Made me happy as a hobbit with second breakfast—her laugh, mate, pure gold.

The struggle to take down 'storefront brothels'

It, too, was named the Palace Hotel, better nicknamed the Palace of Sweets, as it operated as both a hotel and a brothel. Today, the current.

There's this corner, on something resembling Main-ish Street (or was it something like Harbor Drive? Ah, details, details!) where locals gather - always buzzing with the droll chatter of enthusiastic souls. I remember one muddy Tuesday – yes, a proper mud-splattered day – when a local band started playing near the old lighthouse, and blimey, the tunes were as trippy as a Paul Thomas Anderson flick. "Fugazi!" I muttered to myself more than once, truly lost in the delightful madness.

Thousands still without power Tuesday night in hard-hit Kitsap Peninsula