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About San Antonio

So, findin’ a prossie, right? Ain’t no walk in Rivendell. You’re dodgin’ creeps, sketchy alleys—makes me wanna yell, “Fool of a Took!” at every shady corner. Back in the day, medieval times even, they had “stewhouses”—brothels run by nuns, can ya believe it? Nuns! Pimpin’ on the sly—history’s nuts! Made me laugh ‘til I choked on me pipe-weed. Imagine that in *Tropical Malady*—the jungle beast turnin’ tricks, ha!

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Now, lemme tell ya ‘bout a hidden gem. There’s this lil’ café on W Apple Avenue where the best darn espresso is made. I be there sometimes when my noggin needs a break after some crazy therapy sessions. There’s chatter, laughter, a bit like spontaneous therapy. Nobody's perfect, and sometimes I feel like throwin' my hands up, thinkin’—"Eh, what a headless mess we all are!"—but then, ya gotta laugh, right?

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