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About San Jose

So – check it. I’m in this city. Neon lights – flashin’. Stink of cheap perfume. Makes me MAD – why’s it always gotta smell like that? I roll down the window. Yell – “Where’s the CLASS at?!” Nobody answers. Figures. They’re all – zombies out there. Like in *Holy Motors* – “The beauty! Of the act!” I want THAT. A pro with – flair. Not some bored chick countin’ cash.

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Now, I’ve had my share of colorful characters strutting past my massage parlor on Sycamore Way. Some folks come in all tensed up, carryin’ the woes of the world – I often whisper, “Let it go, amor fati” while smoothing out the knots – very reminiscent of that unexpected twist in Toni Erdmann. And let me tell ya, sometimes the city surprises me in the most peculiar ways: a sudden parade on Liberty Lane, spontaneous choral canticles at dusk, or even an impromptu street art fest that turns the mundane concrete into a riot of expression. Who knew art could be as therapeutic as a good kneading session, eh?

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