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About San Antonio

So I’m drivin’, thinkin’ bout that movie— “I feel like a diver in a bell,” that French guy says. Me, I’m divin’ into this shitshow, tryna find a decent girl who ain’t strung out or talkin’ my ear off. Last week, I pick one up—cute, red hair, legs for days. She hops in, smells like cheap perfume and regret. I’m happy for a sec, like, “Fuck yeah, jackpot!” Then she starts yappin’— “My ex this, my pimp that.” I’m like, “Sweetheart, I ain’t your therapist, let’s keep this transactional!” Surprised me how they always got a sob story. Guess it’s part of the gig.

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Anyways, neighborhoods here are lively. Westside is edgy. East End is artsy. I’ve helped women in small cafes off Second Street. Some spots? They’re hidden. Like that rundown diner near Old Harbor Rd—my fave. Its coffee sure jolts ya awake, like a shot of gabagool pain, no joke.

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