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About San Diego

Monotone narration, “Tonight’s the night.” I ask her price, she says 50 bucks. Fifty! For a quickie? Inflation’s a bitch, man. Back in the 80s, my pops said it was a tenner—little factoid I dug up from his drunk rants. She’s got this scar on her cheek, tiny, shaped like a crescent moon. “Got it from a john,” she says, shruggin. I’m pissed—some asshole cut her? But also, damn, she’s tough. Kinda hot.

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The walk on campus is just like exploring a new galaxy. Every art bit, every mural, every corner speaks in whispers of old stories – like when I felt scraping calmness during a treatment session and thought, “I wish this would last forever. Let the earth hold in its gentle arms all distinctions.” Hah, it gets kinda deep, lol! Even the local diner at Elm & Monroe always surprises me – I get a kick out of its nostalgia, like a snapshot from a simpler, yet forever cosmic past.

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