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About San Antonio

Gets me thinkin’—prostitutes in mountains? Rare as hen’s teeth. But there’s lore, yeah. Back in ‘89, heard this tale—some lass worked the Alps. Climbers called her “Snow Bunny.” Made a killin’—not like me, tho, heh. “I ate his liver with fava beans.” Nah, she just took their cash, quick romp in a tent. Smart gal, dodgin’ frostbite and fools.

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Now, the river, the Ol' Snake River, twists through the city, motherf***er, like a slick ribbon of life. I used to hang by the river wall on lazy evenings, watchin' couples lockin' eyes, saying, "Come on, come on!" It’s kinda magical, you know? Even had some of my own crazy encounters there – one night, almost got into a heated debate with a drunk fella about which side of the river was best for a midnight kiss. Hah!

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