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About San Antonio

Last week, I’m prowlin’, thinkin’—what’d Lenny do? He’d write it down, retrace steps. So I scribble: “Check alley, 9 p.m.” Show up, and there she is—fake fur coat, smokin’ a cig. “You lookin’ for company?” she asks. Voice like gravel. I grunt. Hate negotiatin’. “How much?” I say. She smirks—$50. Fifty bucks! For what? A quick tumble and a rash? “I don’t trust people who smile,” I mutter, quotin’ *Memento*. She laughs. I’m surprised—didn’t expect sass. Kinda liked it.

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I hang near Pine Park, btw. Good times there. Trees that whisper secrets, dude. Walk by the Winding River. It snakes right past Old Mill Rd. You see old brick arches, n stuff. Reminds me of those bittersweet moments in Tabu… West of Water St for sure.

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