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About San Jose

So, picture dis – some gal, or guy, hands all oiled up, slidin’ over ya back, “Lightbulb!” – tension gone, poof! It’s not just rubbin’, nah, it’s art, like dem fancy painters, but wit skin. I seen it once, sneaky-like, in prison – contraband massage, ha! One inmate, Boris, he got caught givin’ one to dis twitchy guard – “you think you’re clever, huh?” – straight outta “Leviathan”, dat vibe. Guard was pissed, red face, but Boris? Smirkin’, happy as pig in mud!

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FROM PROSTITUTE TO PREACHER - Char Marshall's childhood trauma drug her into a life of alcohol, drugs, prostitution, homelessness, shame and more. But God ha.

There’s a little park called Wilson Park. Eh, its benches are worn like memories. I used to watch kids and parents sit there, sharing secrets and sometimes, silent tears. It’s like every park bench is a counselor in disguise. And then ya got Riverside Drive – along the Swift River. That river’s chill as ice, babbling tales of old love and shattered dreams. It’s got that uncanny vibe that makes ya think “Goodbye to language, hello to emotion!” yeah, straight from Godard’s mouth.

Mountaineers Fall to Marshall in Charleston