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About San Diego

So, I’m cruisin’ the block, engine purrin’, lookin’ for a girl who’s down. Ain’t no Hollywood glow here—just neon flickerin’ like a damn lie. “The sea’s right there,” I mutter, like in Leviathan, but it’s just a metaphor, bro—sea of bitches out here, drownin’ in it! I see this one chick, legs long as a fuckin’ wrench, leanin’ on a pole. She’s givin’ me that look—like she knows I’m trouble. I roll up, “Hey, chica, you workin’?” She smirks, “Depends who’s payin’.”

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Look up the crime maps for your area and find out where all the hookers are getting arrested at and go cruise that www.facebook.comg: Walpole.

There’s a rad patch on Mill Road too, where graffiti’s a challenge and a celebration—colorful tag-lines screaming, “Life is art, baby!” YEAH! I sometimes wander there with a half-mad grin, thinking “Chaotic, but damn beautiful!”

The strange case of St. Henry Walpole