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About San Antonio

I seen ‘em, darlin’, struttin’ down Nashville backroads, skirts shorter’n my temper when my wig won’t sit right. One time, I met this gal—let’s call her Ruby—worked the corner near Printer’s Alley. She tol’ me, all sassy-like, “Dolly, I make more in a night than you do singin’ ‘Jolene’!” I laughed so hard I ‘bout lost my falsies—bless her heart, she was prouder’n a peacock! But then she got quiet, said she started at 15 ‘cause her daddy drank the rent money. Made me madder’n a wet hen—how’s a kid s’posed to climb outta that hole?

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Then there’s the Dungeness Spit—wtf, man—so wild it makes you go “Whoa, check that out!” The Pacific Ocean meets the spit, and I’d honestly spend hours there, relaxing, thinkin’ about life and love. It reminds me of the bathhouse in Spirited Away, a secret world you stumble into.

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