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About Los Angeles

Back in ‘06, Cuarón showed no babies, no future—prostitutes tho? Plenty! Little fact, hah—Victorian times, they called ‘em “soiled doves,” poetic, right? Bullshit! Nothin’ poetic here, just desperation, cash, quick bangs. Asked this one gal, “How much, huh?” She grinned, all teeth, said, “Fifty, big guy.” Surprised I was—cheap as a flank steak! “Hope, where is it?” I mutter, like Theo in the movie, lost in this crap world.

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Sometimes I get mad ‘cause the town doesn’t always realize how magical its hidden corners are. Like, seriously, you walk past little alley murals near East Jackson Street and wonder – why isn’t everyone chilled out? It’s artful madness! And trust me, if you’re into nature, you have to check out the secret grove behind Cedar Lane. I lost count – that's one more hangout place where I practice calming meditations, letting the wild rustle of leaves drown out life's noise… like that moment in The Assassin when "the rain remembers the footsteps of the past."

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