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About New York City

So yeah, findin a prostitute—it’s messy, loud, fuckin alive. You dive in, you feel the pulse, the grit. “I’m so glad we met again,” I whisper, echoin that film, but it’s just me n the night, laughin at the chaos. Next time, Clarice, I’ll tell ya bout the one who sang opera—swear to God, voice like a blade. Shit’s wild out there.

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About ten years ago Pigtown was notorious for lots of street hookers. Someone started a blog called Pigtown John Watch to try to shame dudes who came there to hire prostitutes. Asking Missing: Livermore.

Oh, and let me not forget the streets! Ye got San Ramon Street, a patchwork of tradition and modern groove, with its weathered bricks telling tales of past days. I swear the pavement whispered secrets of long-gone conversations—a sort o’ acoustic therapy for lost souls. Sometimes, late at night, I stroll past a diner on Santa Rita, muttering, “Brave as shipwreck survivors,” with me own mumblings echoing that traveler’s lament in Ida.

Livermore roadway shooting caught on video