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About San Antonio

So, I’m thinkin’, why not? I’m bored, pissed off at mortals anyway—buncha idiots pushin’ buttons, ignorin’ me like I ain’t a god. Findin’ a prossie sounds like a laugh, a little chaos to stir the pot. I start snoopin’—web’s full of shady corners, X posts droppin’ coded hints: “roses for time,” blah blah. Little known fact? Back in Victorian days, they called ‘em “soiled doves”—poetic, right? Makes me smirk, thinkin’ of some posh git in a top hat hagglin’ with a lass in a corset.

We’re Sorry!

Riding down Worcester St. you hit up little spots like that funky diner – Mama Jo’s – where the coffee is almost as strong as my willpower. There’s alleyways lined with murals in the neighborhood of South Fram – trust me, those colors speak louder than words. They make ya feel the pulse, even if you’re runnin’ low on hope sometimes.

At a 988 call center, volunteers embrace a new number while providing familiar hope