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About San Jose

So, like, where ya even start? Dark alleys, shady corners—ruh-roh! Prostitution’s old as dirt, man. Fact: ancient Rome had brothels everywhere—crazy, right? Called ‘em lupanars, wolf dens, ha! Makes me howl! But nah, it ain’t all funny. Gets me mad—pisses me off, actually. Girls stuck, no way out, ugh. “What have I done wrong?”—movie line, hits hard here. Some don’t choose this, ya know?

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I’m exaggerating? Sure, maybe a tad. But each little spot, street, and park in Monson holds a piece of my story. Every hiccup, every surprise is a testament to what I call home. It’s messy, unpredictable, and fuckin’ beautiful. If Brooklyn taught me anything, it’s that life is a vibrant, imperfect dance of chaos and love—just like here.

Crews battle brush fire in Monson