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About San Antonio

Ports are dodgy, mate—full of pissheads and slags. Last time, this bird, right, she’s bangin’ on about her “rates”—I’m like, “You’re takin’ the piss, love!” Total idiot sandwich! Smelled like cheap rum and regret—made me wanna hurl. But I’m desperate, ain’t I? Sea’s been a cruel bitch—weeks with nothin’ but me hand and a soggy bunk.

Dallas police taking action to get sex workers off the streets

There are many things I like to do, to see, and to experience. I like to read, I like to write; I like to think, I like to dream; I like to talk, I like to listen. I like to see the sunrise in the morning, I like Missing: Walnut Hills.

I admit, I’ve had my share of “Zero Dark Thirty” nights—dark, broody, with tension almost as thick as the ghetto coffee I sip at late hours on Coddington. Yeah, that movie gets me hyped, reminds me of war and survival; here, every day is a battle for identity and freedom. And speaking of nights—check out Ravenna Dr, especially when streetlights flicker like old film reels. It’s eerie, yet captivating.

A local bar once named among the best in America permanently closes