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About San Antonio

Once, in Flea Bottom, I met this lass—Ros, they called her. Cheeky, red-haired, knew her trade like I know Dornish red. Little fact: them girls got codes—two taps on the table means “pay up quick.” She winks, I grin, thinkin’, “Seven hells, I’m in!” Cost me a stag, but worth it—soft as silk, sharp as Valyrian steel. Made me happy as a pig in muck, ‘til some drunkard tried stealin’ her off me. Pissed me right off—punched him square, dwarf fists flyin’! “You’re a mistake,” Sissy’d say—nah, love, I’m the bloody maestro.

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So, start on Main St. – it's busy, it’s loud, and it buzzes with life. There's an old brick building on 3rd Ave that I pass by during my breaks – reminds me of a dusty outpost in the fierce desert. And holy smokes, Court St., man! It’s like the city’s spine. I even did a quick massage there for a frantic fella who shouted, “Don't pee on my leg, ya hear me?!” – Judge Judy vibes, right?!

Storm good news for snowpack, but several more like it are needed