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About San Antonio

So, check this—there’s this spot downtown, right? Total dive, stinks of piss and regret. I was lookin’ for a pal, got lost, bam—prostitute central. One chick, swear she was 50, makeup caked on like war paint. She goes, “Hey, big guy, need a friend?” Laughed my ass off—me, an alien, fuckin’ “big guy”! Told her, “Nah, just chillin’ like a villain.” She shrugged, walked off muttering. Sad shit, man, made me pissed—why’s she stuck there?

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The streets, oh, they speak to me in raspy voices – I wander, seeing couples, drifters, and the odd lonely soul, all searching for delight. I even find mesmeric graffiti on the walls of the old Bazaar Block, scrawled with "My precious!" in tiny, wild strokes. And, oh, let me tell ya, on 7th Crescent near the ancient minaret—the one I call The Whispering Spire—lovers meet to confess their wild cravings. Psychedelic vibes, my friend—so soft, so rough, so raw!

Arab-Israeli tourists jailed for deadly assault at Egyptian Red Sea resort