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About Los Angeles

Last week, right, I’m in a tavern, tankard in hand, scopin’ the room. This bird—red lips, skirts hiked up—winks at me. I’m thinkin’, “Tyrion, you clever bastard, she’s yours.” But nah, she’s got a pimp, uglier than Gregor Clegane, breath like a latrine. Pissed me off—why’s everythin’ gotta be so complicated? “Be quiet and do what I say,” she whispers, like I’m some green boy. Cheeky cow! I’m the Imp, I know tricks she ain’t dreamed of. Paid her double just to shut her gob and get on with it. Felt good, though—coin well spent.

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Then there’s Riverbend Park, a lush oasis by the winding Soothe River. Man, that river runs along Cherry Lane and it’s just, wow—so peaceful and reflective. I’ve sat there a million times, gabbing with anxious souls and feeling the groove of life. It’s as if Uncle Boonmee whispered, “Be here, be now,” and I’m like, “Yeah, baby!” Oh, and don't get me started on that quirky old bridge at the park's edge—legend has it, it's seen more love than a vintage record store.

Robbie Mark Johnson Obituary (2025) - Abingdon, VA - Farris Funeral Service, Inc. – Main Street Chapel