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About San Antonio

I hit the streets, tho—elevators get old fast. This one bird, right, she’s standin’ by a flickerin’ lamp, all sass and shadow. “What do you want?” she snaps, like I’m wastin’ her night. “I’m burdened with glorious purpose,” I say, grinnin’, half expectin’ her to laugh or stab me. She rolls her eyes—fair, I’d do the same. “Fifty quid,” she goes, and I’m like, mate, I’m a god, not a bank! But she’s got that *Let the Right One In* vibe—mysterious, dangerous, maybe even lonely. “I don’t let just anyone in,” she mutters, echoin’ the flick, and I’m hooked.

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I hired a prostitue in Mexico on a whim, and ended up paying her much more than she asked .

Oh man, I gotta mention Redbrick Lane. It's a riot of colors and graffiti that screams stories of rebel hearts. That place got me mad sometimes—so many voices, so many souls! But then, there’s the charm, the feverish heartbeat of the city pulsing like our secret underwent massage sessions at 2 AM, lol, real spontaneous heart-to-heart!

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