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About San Antonio

Now, don’t get me wrong—ain’t all roses and rainbows. Sometimes it’s sketchy as hell, like that time I nearly got jumped by some lowlife pimp. Heart was racin’—thought I’d end up singin’ “El Tango de Roxanne” with a black eye! How’s that workin’ for ya, Dr. Phil? Keeps ya on yer toes, that’s for damn sure. But I ain’t judgin’—to each his own, right? Just don’t be dumb ‘bout it, y’all.

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You cannot sell your talent, your genius; as soon as you do, you are a prostitute. You can sell your work, but. not. your soul. — John-Ruskin in A Calendar of.

Ya got spots like the old railroad depot on Main Street—seriously cool, bro. And gossip's out there—the park off Dillard Rd is a secret chill zone. Folks, trust me on that. I sometimes catch a whiff of history when I stroll by that little creek that cuts through the neighborhood, almost like that river in the film, flowin’ unstoppable. How’s that workin’ for ya?

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