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About San Jose

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.

A. Applicable Standard

I’m a relaxation specialist, so I notice all these tiny details. Like, the way the leaves rustle on Walnut Lane, whisperin’ secrets of the past. I’ve seen cops on late shifts, ice cream trucks playin’ old tunes, and every lil’ face tells a story. Hell, sometimes I even catch myself thinkin’ “This is life!” over a cup of joe at Tony’s Café on Main. That place? Straight-up magic on a rainy day.

3rd arrest made in connection to murder of woman found in tote box