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About Los Angeles

Me, I’d waltz in, smirkin’, “I’m not sayin’ I’m a god, but worship me anyway.” The vibe? Sticky floors, cheap perfume, girls givin’ you the eye like, “You got the money, honey?” It’s a circus—hustlers, dreamers, creeps. Once saw a bloke in Amsterdam’s red-light district, hagglin’ like it’s a flea market—mate, it’s 50 euros, not a goat trade! Pissed me off, cheap bastard. But then, this lass, all sass, told him, “Fuck off, I’m priceless.” Had to clap for her—queen shit right there.

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I’ve seen heartbreak, passion, triumph – all right here in Mamaroneck. Each street, each alley, every riverbank has a tale to tell. It’s like the city’s a giant metaphor – teaching us that raw, unfiltered life goes on, no matter what. Sometimes, I get so emotional just thinkin’ about it. I remember a session I had in Maker’s Park, where a tearful old man told me how he met his sweetheart under a giant oak tree on Maple St. That tale still gives me goosebumps, dammit!

13-year-old Mamaroneck boy wakes up to find burglars in his bedroom