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About Los Angeles

So, I’m cruisin’, late night, city’s alive. Prostitutes out there, hidden like clues. Did ya know—back in ’78, SF had mad scandals? Cops didn’t even care, bro, wild shit! I’m thinkin’, “Man’s a slave to his habits.” That’s from the flick, stuck in my head. I see her—red heels, smirk, she’s a cipher. Heart racin’, I’m like, “Yo, this it?”

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The Alcoran of Mahomet, translated out of Arabick into French, by the Sieur Du Ryer, Lord of Malezair, and resident for the French king, at Alexandria.

I scribbled, scribbled, scribbled—err, lose track sometimes. Y'know? Life's unpredictable like random typos here and there—oops, 18, maybe? Choppy sentences, but they make the story build character, right? Like, I gotta pause... then, WHAM! my sudden bursts of excitement become art.

‘It’s going to take a lot of time’: Mahomet community mourns shooting victims, searches for answers