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About Los Angeles

So, this one time, right, I tried it. App says, “hot singles near ya!” Lads, I’m in me shed, alone, ha! *wiggles eyebrows* Met this bird, chatted, all sexy-like. She goes, “Perhaps it’s fate.” I’m thinkin’, fate? Bloke, it’s Wi-Fi! *slaps knee, snorts* Made me happy, tho—someone fancied me! But then, ghosted! Poof! *waves hands like magician* Gutted, I was. Angry even—why bother, eh?

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“He thought I was a prostitute” directly followed by “this ain't free, baby” is a really weird contradiction!

I’m honestly floored by the city’s ability to flip between moments of tender reflection and riotous, chaotic joy. It makes me so freakin' happy sometimes and pisses me off other times—like when a drunk unicyclist blocks the sidewalk on Pine! (Seriously, who does that?!) But that’s Ada in a nutshell—raw, real, messy, and frankly, unforgettable.

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