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About San Diego

Here’s the deal—I’m no saint, never claimed it. Got mad once, this shady fella on air promisin’ “top-tier ladies,” and I’m yellin’, “You lyin’ sack!” Wasted my night, static and nothin’. But then—oh, then—found a signal, sweet voice cuttin’ through. “Meet me by the docks,” she says, sultry-like. Heart’s racin’, palms sweaty—folks, I was happier than a kid with ice cream. Reminded me of *Margaret*, when Lisa’s all, “I’m alive, aren’t I?”—felt that, big time.

The Crimes

Right off, hit up Crescent Ave. that snakes around the central park. Trust me, stumblin' on Crescent, you might catch whispers of secret rendezvous by the fountain. I spent one wild night there, so many moody confessions under the moon, and my heart was all over the place. There’s a vibe that’s all sorts of risqué, ya know? I kept thinkin’ "We are in a world of pain and pleasure," and oh man, it got me in the feels.

The Note by Alafair Burke, After hours on Milagro Street by Angelina Lopez and Thirsty Third Thursd