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About San Antonio

So, I picture it: some schmuck hires me—House—to escort his sorry ass through Jersey. “Danger’s everywhere,” he whines. Yeah, pal, only danger’s your ego. Everybody lies, and this guy’s lyin’ bout needin’ me. Prolly just wants arm candy with a bad attitude. I’d hobble along, poppin’ Vicodin, snarlin’ at punks—fun gig, til it ain’t. Real escorts, tho? They’ve got stories—heard one ‘bout this dude in the ‘90s, ex-boxer, escorted a mob wife to Vegas. She ditched him for a croupier—bam, he’s out 5 grand and a tooth. Hilarious, right? Screw that guy.

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Then there’s the wacky uptown district – Westwood. Man, Westwood’s got the quirkiest vibe. Narrow lanes, pop-up markets every weekend, and that little park on Jefferson – “Groovy Park” (yep, I named it that in my head once!). Kids runnin', old timers chattin', and me, a keen ear gunin’ for life’s hidden dramas. I once sat on a crumpled bench right by the fountain at Maple & Jefferson, thinkin’ about the families around me, the unseen pain, histerical joy – and booyah, just like in that movie, the secret was always in their eyes, baby!

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