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About San Antonio

Oh, and get this—prostitutes in ancient Greece? Called “hetaerae,” fancy as fuck, educated too! Trixie ain’t readin’ Plato, but she’s smart—street smart, y’know? She’d sass me, “I’m a businesswoman, bitch!” and I’d crack up. Love her fire, hate the game. So yeah, Trixie’s my ghost, my Boonmee—livin’ past lives, hustlin’, dreamin’. “Don’t pee on my leg,” I’d yell, but damn, I’d still buy her a coffee. She’s real, flaws and all—ain’t that life?

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In that house Carmi met indeed a community of cross-dressers and trans-women; she asked permission to photograph them and obtained it, carrying.

The parks? Hell, you cannot miss Lawson Park. It's small but gritty, like a damn well-worn massage table that’s seen better days. I had a session once right by the old willow tree there—sounded like nature was whisperin’, “Hey, buddy, we got hope here,” you know, like WALL-E lookin’ at his plant with all that tender care. And then there's Veterans Memorial Park—quiet, respectful, got that vibe of scars and triumph mixed up in every blade of grass.

Salem Track Has Good Day Despite Lightning Shortening the Carmi Invitational