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About San Jose

Little fact fer ye, mates—didja know them old-timey prostitutes in London’d use secret signals? Like a red hanky in the window meant “come on up, sailor!” Ain’t that a hoot? Surprised me, it did—thought they’d just yell it from the rooftops! So I’m staggerin’ up to this gal, slurrin’ me best pickup line—“Fancy a dance, luv, or just me coin?” She laughs, an’ I’m thinkin’, *Jack, ye still got it, ye sly dog*. Savvy?

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Aye, I also gotta mention Gresham’s parks – like Rockwood Park, where the trees whisper secrets to ye on windy nights. Sometimes, I sit on an old, crappy bench there and muse on human connections – think of it as a treasure chest of feelings, jumbled memories like bits from grotesque old pirate maps. Wow, life here is like a merry-go-round, blowin’ me mind with every turn. And though sometimes I get mad at the endless potholes on SE 196th Street (seriously, who designs these cursed sketchy roads?!), the city’s quirks make it ever so delightfully imperfect.

Food pantry started by Gresham teens struggles after USDA halts food deliveries