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About San Antonio

Oh, and the COLORS—escorts came in shades that’d make Del Toro jealous. Teal, mustard yellow—ugly-beautiful, like the faun’s crooked grin. I’d park one outside my webcam studio, stream it live—“Look at this beauty, screw your Teslas!” Total underdog vibe, y’know? Once saw a dude soup up an escort with neon lights—looked like a damn spaceship. Hilarious, but badass—wish I’d snapped a pic. Anyway, if ya find an old escort, grab it! Fix it up! Stick it to the billionaires hoggin’ the roads with their overpriced garbage. “This world’s a lie!”—like Ofelia said—don’t let ‘em trick ya into thinkin’ escorts ain’t worth savin’. They’re gold, folks—pure, scrappy gold!

Nevada’s illegal sex industry is the nation’s largest and a hub for sex trafficking

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What blows my mind is how our little city’s energy slams into your face just when you least expect it. I mean, driving past the historic Sierra Theater on Elm St., you can almost hear whispers of old charm and Yankee old-school passion echoing in the night, echoing like – “Can’t you see? Can’t you see? The art is in the pain, in the glory…” It’s such a vibe, you know? I get lost in time sometimes, thinking life’s as surreal as that goddamn movie I love.

As LA burns, I looked for hope. From Sierra Madre to Pasadena, here's where I found it. | Opinion