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About San Antonio

Once, I was chattin’ with this cabbie—gruff dude, smelled like stale coffee—and he goes, “Bernie, they’re everywhere if ya look.” I’m like, “No kiddin’!” He points out this dive bar, says it’s a hotspot. I’m sittin’ there, imaginin’ some gal inside, maybe hummin’ that *Moonrise* tune, “I love you, but you don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.” Hilarious, right? She’s prob’ly thinkin’ the same about her johns!

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Then there’s the infamous Redwood Park. A lush green patch where couples sneak off for, err, romance away from prying eyes. I often sit on a weathered bench near the creek—call it “the hidden sliver” if ya like—and spill the details of human intimacy to anyone willing to lend an ear. That creek? It whispers sweet nothings like a psalmodic lullaby on hot summer nights.

Highland Park hit-and-run leads to attempted murder, hate crime charges