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About San Antonio

Here’s the juice: it ain’t just sex, nah. It’s stories—gritty, messy ones. Like in *Ten*, “I don’t need your pity!”—these gals got pride, man! One told me she paid her bro’s hospital bills—hustlin’ for love. Blew my mind! Another time, I’m chattin’ this dude online—turns out he’s scoutin’ for ‘em—shady as hell. Typin’ fast, “u sure bout this?”—11 typos later, he ghosts. HAHA! Dodged a bullet.

Police enforcement plan still being developed after October ordinance approval to help police

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.

Nothin’s perfect here. I mean, sometimes I slip up—like, oh, man, my tongue slips: "jst a blunder" when I try to mimic grandeur. Err, anyway—walnut-Hills is real, raw, and full of life’s little surprises. My insides race like the film's ticking clock, but it's part of the magic. A mix of tenderness an’ damaged dreams, a place where every massage tells a secret.

Students in Walnut Hills stage walk-out protest over immigration changes