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About San Antonio

Oi, precious, listen up! Me, a barista? Nah, I’m Gollum, sneaky-like, slingin’ coffee, watchin’ folk. Findin’ a prostitute, eh? We hates it! Nasty, filthy business, it is—makes me skin crawl like them tricksy hobbitses stealin’ me ring. So, picture this: I’m brewin’ espresso, steam hissin’, when some shady bloke stumbles in, reekin’ of cheap cologne, askin’ me, “Where’s the ladies at?” I’m like, “We serves lattes, not lassies, ya twit!” He don’t get it—dumb as a sack o’ rocks.

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The oddities? Oh boy: I once met a chill old dude on 7th Street near Van Buren – was muttering about how the city’s secrets are hidden in the cracks. I laughed, but he was right. So many corners in this city hold a story you’d never guess.

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