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About San Antonio

Yo, what’s good, fam? So, findin’ a prostitute—wild shit, right? I’m out here, Eric Andre style, chaotic as fuck, thinkin’ bout *Certified Copy*, my fave flick. Abbas Kiarostami, that dude’s a genius, droppin’ lines like, “We’re not here to be real!” Shit’s deep, man. Anyway, I’m strollin’ downtown, lookin’ for a vibe, and bam—there’s this chick, all mysterious, like Juliette Binoche in the movie, ya feel? She’s got that “I might be fake, but I’m real” energy. I’m like, “Yo, you workin’?” She smirks, says, “Depends who’s askin’.” I’m hyped, laughin’ like a maniac—classic me.

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I’ve got more personal quirks than a treasure map’s riddles. Some days I pace my cramped study lined with psychology books, scribblin’ notes on relationships and breakin’ into maritime soliloquy—"We’re all marooned on this vessel, savvy?"—while the clock ticks like a cannon ready to fire. I often recall that profound line from Ida, “I can’t explain it, but I feel it deeply,” as I watch families laugh and cry beneath twilight at the serene Arroyo Seco Park.

More information needed before redeveloping Livermore Airport, consultant finds