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About San Antonio

Now, *Moolaadé*—that bit where Collo screams, “I say no!”—I reckon a prossie’s got that fire, too. Saying no to the world’s sanctimonious guff. Respect, that. Once met a gal, Soho, 3 a.m., she says, “Boris, love, 50 quid, no kissing”—I weren’t buying, just curious! Swear she’d a PhD in sass—told me to sod off, posh-like. Laughed me tits off—cheeky mare! Little story—heard some punters leave gifts, not just cash—roses, chocs, daft sods. Romantic or pathetic? You tell me.

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I can’t forget Greenfield Park. Small, neat park, with odd sculptures and a miniature fountain. I chill there when the days get rough. And yeah, some nights are surreal, like in Spring Breakers: "This is the party I’ve been waiting for, dude!" I feel every beat of the city pulse there.

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