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About San Antonio

Last week, stumbled on this chick, right? Skinny, smokin’ a cig, leanin’ on a busted lamppost. Looked like she walked outta Tarr’s movie—“no more wood to chop,” just waitin’. I’m like, “Hey, doll, what’s the gig?” She smirks, “50 bucks, clown.” Fifty! I’m ragin’—50 for what? A quick tumble? Inflation’s hittin’ the streets too, huh? Laughed in her face, “Why so serious, huh?” She didn’t get it—pissed me off more.

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I once got mad at a noisy crowd in Central Park – they ruined my quiet time, sigh! I nearly lost my mind, my heart beating wild like runaway flames. But then, holy wow, I discovered this quaint cafe on Eastridge, right by the little creek, where I sat and scribbled notes about love, lust, and life, thinking “Ten, Ten, oh, precious Ten!” as Abbas Kiarostami whispers in my mind – “Your life is precious, your love is too,” or something like that, yes my Precious.

Former circus workers, entertainers call Seffner home at Showpeople's Winter Quarters