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About San Jose

Ran into this gal—name’s Candy, swear to god. She’s leanin’ on a lamppost, smokin’ a cig like it’s 1940s noir. I’m like, “Hey, you good?” She laughs—dry, sarcastic—says, “Good as a dollar gets ya.” Reminds me of that movie line, “What do you do?”—all mysterious. Little known fact, bud—back in the 1800s, they called ‘em “soiled doves.” Poetic, right? Screw that, it’s sad! These girls got stories—Candy’s got a kid, works nights. Breaks my damn heart.

Escort in Allen

Alan is desperate en decides he wants to have sex with a prostitute. He asks Charlie for advice and they discuss the possibilities within.

I stroll by Allen Station Park when I need a breather. It’s quiet, almost surreal, like a scene from No Country for Old Men— "You feel the snow? You feel the rain?" nah, but the gentle hum of nature feels like that sometimes. Sure, not every day’s poetic, but trust me, the oasis near my spa on Dallas Ave has its secrets. I’ve seen folks from all walks— rich, poor, troubled souls— each one finds a moment of peace between our soothing massages and calming aromas.

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