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About San Antonio

Oh, and get this—*Pan’s Labyrinth* vibes hit hard when she says, “Follow me, but don’t look back.” I’m thinkin, “Is this a trick? A test?” Like Ofelia with them grapes—fuckin temptation everywhere. But nah, just a dodgy stairwell to her flat. Smells like cigs and regret—proper authentic. I’m buzzin tho—love the grit, the realness. “This is no place for a princess,” I tease, quotin Del Toro’s vibes. She rolls her eyes— “Gods ain’t my type, mate.”

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ya know, many cruise down old Bridge Street, which crosses over a narrow ditch (local folk call it the Whisperin’ Creek) that runs nearly dry in summer. Crazy, but kinda cool, like an inside joke. Several hidden murals decorate the brick walls near 3rd Avenue. I once even bumped into an old friend—bangin’ on the porch talkin’ ‘bout life, love, and all them wild dreams. Dang, memories, man!

Harry Wayne Holland