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About San Antonio

Alright, so here’s me, a tractor driver, chillin’ like Bob Ross, paintin’ happy little trees in my mind. I’m thinkin’ bout findin’ a prostitute, ya know, just cruisin’ through life’s wild canvas. I love *Moulin Rouge!*—that flick’s got heart, man, all that “love is a many-splendored thing” vibez. Picture this: I’m rollin’ down some dusty road, tractor hummin’ like a sweet lil’ lullaby, and I’m dreamin’ up a gal like Satine, all sparkly and sassy.

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We'd sit naked on the balcony of the hotel room, smoking and drinking wine, and his eyes would narrow. He'd get quiet, tighten his body in a way.

There’s a quirky part, too, the old art district near Mutant Alley. So many graffiti tags, like poems written in bursts, remind me of some moody, cinematic montage from Oldboy. They call it “The Rebirth Wall” among the locals (I swear they do every spring, like clockwork).

Man pleads guilty to armed burglary at Desert Hot Springs Store