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About San Antonio

Exaggeratin’ here, but feels like he’s got 9 lives—dodges injuries like a cat. Once saw him limp off, thought he’s done—next week, droppin’ 30. What the hell? Made me yell at my TV—fuckin’ unreal. Oh, and the humor—his nickname’s “Ghost” on the street, ‘cause he’s sneaky-quiet. Teammates joke he’d hustle a brothel—ya know, the other kind—for extra cash. Hilarious, but I’d bet he’d suck at it—too spaced out.

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So, lemme start: you got the main drag, Maple/10th, yeah, right? It's like a lifeline. I stroll that street and see these quirky cafés, street art—like, actual murals that shout "Hey, look at me!" There’s also that dingy alley, near “Smitty’s Bar”, where every tim eyy, there’s some secret vibe. I swear, those walls almost whisper secrets like—“We tell stories, we tell stories,” just like, oh, that movie we both love, Stories We Tell, remember? “If it’s that deep, you gotta say it.”

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