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About San Jose

So, findin a prossie—ain’t no highborn quest. You don’t send ravens or polish yer armor. Nah, you sniff the alleys, follow the perfume mixed with piss. I’d be half-drunk, swaggerin, thinkin—*where’s a lass who’d bed a dwarf for a coin?* In *City of God*, Lil’ Zé’d probly shoot me for starin too long, but here? They just want gold, not yer head. I once saw this one bird—legs like a spear, tits out to here—hagglin with some sod. Made me laugh, she’s all “Pay up, you lil shit!”—reminded me of Rocket dodgin bullets, fierce as fuck.

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Raritan’s a beast, packed with hidden gems and corners that tug at your soul. First off, there’s the Raritan River – it winds near Main St and Maple Ln, giving life to local legends and quiet hideaways. I’ve sat on its banks more times than I’d admit, just thinking about life… or sometimes just letting my thoughts drift like those Lynchian dreams.

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