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About San Antonio

Met this one tart—Ros, she was called—sharp as a blade. She’d say, “Men come, men go,” echoin’ that movie line, “They drift away.” Clever, see? Knew how to play ‘em, but her eyes—gods, hollow as a crypt. Surprised me, that—thought she’d be all sass, no soul. Under the skin, eh? Peel it back, and it’s just survival. I drink to that, mate—gulps o’ wine for the brave ones.

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He's a Soho dandy, below-average artist, sex columnist, and Comme des Garçons model. He's swum with sharks, slept with a thousand prostitutes, been addicted to.

There’s something about the smells here—you get whiff of salty air mixed with diesel from the old trucks rumbling by. Annoying? Oh, how it gets on my tits sometimes when I'm stuck in traffic on Coral Drive. But it adds character. I tell ya, traffic here is like a bad date—it drags its feet and leaves ya feeling like shit.

Dr. Sebastian Röger