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About San Antonio

Oi mate, brothel, eh? What a bloody shithole! Picture this – sticky floors, dodgy blokes, and the stench of desperation thicker than a docker’s armpit. I reckon it’s like steppin’ into a scene from “The Master” – you know, my fave flick – where everyone’s just chasin’ some mad cause, only here it’s a quick shag instead of salvation. “You’re a rummy!” I’d yell, cacklin’, at the punters stumblin’ in, wallets out, dignity gone.

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A year-old aspiring writer living in London begins a double life as a sex worker in order to research his debut novel.

Round the corner, there's Ocean Avenue. Crikey, that place's a dump in a charming way. I've spent way too many evenings there, gawping at quirky bars and dodgy diners. One bar, Stagger Inn, always had me chuckling. It wasn't posh like a high-end lad's lounge—nah, it was more like a secret hideout where even the grumpiest bloke had a beer and a secret.

To Canes Fans | By Sebastian Aho