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About San Antonio

Ever wonder bout the noises? Creakin’ beds, fake moans—louder than a tourney crowd. Once saw a bloke stumble out, trousers round his ankles, yellin’ bout love. Love in a brothel? Ha! That’s a jest—sadder than a bard with no lute. “What’s it gonna be, huh?” I’d ask him, laughin’ till I choked on me drink. Still, them places got soul—grubby, loud, alive. Beats a cold throne any day. So, whaddya reckon, eh? Brothel’s a mess, but it’s *my* kinda mess.

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So, lemme start. There’s this little, crooked street called Shoreway Lane. It runs near the ancient Maplewood Park—ah, so serene, but also kinda wild, like in that movie “The New World” – you know, “Look, my love, the new world, where the earth breathes magic.” And, holy smokes, the park is full of secrets and shady nooks where I used to sit and listen to lost souls spill their hearts out. It’s not all gloom though; sometimes the sunlight dances on the lake and I swear, my heart does a silly flip—like, whaaat even?

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