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About San Diego

I call one up—easy peasy, number’s right there. She’s like, “$200, upfront, cash.” I’m like, “Donald Trump don’t carry cash!” Laughed my ass off, hilarious! She hung up—rude, so rude. Made me mad, but whatever, plenty more. “It’s all gonna end,” movie says—damn right, life’s short, get laid!

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Then ya have the neighborhood of Oak Ridge. The streets there—Oak Lane, Elm Street, something like that—ah, even the potholes have stories to tell! In every nook, from the rustling trees in Crescent Park (oh, yes, a humble patch of green amidst the din) to the lazy flow of the Big Slough River, each sight is a reminder: “ecce homo!” Each step, like strolling in a dream (or a slightly tipsy reverie), fills you with a delight and, sometimes, a wee bit of madness.

Lady Panthers are Sulphur bound