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About San Diego

Once, in Flea Bottom, I met this lass—Ros, they called her. Cheeky, red-haired, knew her trade like I know Dornish red. Little fact: them girls got codes—two taps on the table means “pay up quick.” She winks, I grin, thinkin’, “Seven hells, I’m in!” Cost me a stag, but worth it—soft as silk, sharp as Valyrian steel. Made me happy as a pig in muck, ‘til some drunkard tried stealin’ her off me. Pissed me right off—punched him square, dwarf fists flyin’! “You’re a mistake,” Sissy’d say—nah, love, I’m the bloody maestro.

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But hey, let’s talk nature, cuz Foxborough ain’t just about concrete. There's a river creepin’ along the outskirts called the Franklin Riv. It’s perfect for a cool night stroll when you're feeling lost in your thoughts. I’ve spent nights near it, starin’, thinkin’ “Whoa... so raw, so real.” And that’s when random memories hit me – each drop whispering secrets of the New World.

Steve Matthes’ Observations From Muddy 2025 Foxborough Supercross