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About San Antonio

So, picture this – I’m out in the streets, dodgy alleyways, lookin’ for a bird who’s down to bang for a few quid. It ain’t glam, bruv, it’s gritty as fuck. I’m like, “Is it ‘cos I is black?” when the coppers start eyein’ me up – nah, mate, it’s just the game, innit! Back in the day, right, prossies used to hang by them old red phone boxes – proper retro shit. Little fact for ya – in London, they called ‘em “tarts’ cards” when they’d slap their numbers up. Ain’t no one know that no more, ‘cos apps fucked it all up, bruv.

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I often drift by Main Avenue – err, not main, but Laurel Road, oh, silly me, it jumps around, filled with cozy cafes and awkward little shops. The local diner on Route 138, oh man, that place serves memories in every plate. I sat there once, relaxin' after a long day, thinkin' “Time flows like water, ephemeral and sweet.” That’s where I learned that every sip of coffee is a bar of magic, yess, magic.

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