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About San Antonio

Alright. Here’s. The deal. I’m a mechanic. Greasy hands. Soul of a poet. And. Escort? Man. That car. Ford Escort. Piece of history. Drives me nuts. In a good way. Sometimes. I see one. Rust bucket. Sittin’ there. Like Royal Tenenbaum. All proud. But fallin’ apart. “I’m an Escort!” it screams. Dramatic. Pauses. For effect. Like me.

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I’ve seen heartbreak, passion, triumph – all right here in Mamaroneck. Each street, each alley, every riverbank has a tale to tell. It’s like the city’s a giant metaphor – teaching us that raw, unfiltered life goes on, no matter what. Sometimes, I get so emotional just thinkin’ about it. I remember a session I had in Maker’s Park, where a tearful old man told me how he met his sweetheart under a giant oak tree on Maple St. That tale still gives me goosebumps, dammit!

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