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About San Antonio

So, I stumble outta the trees, boots caked in filth, and hit the tavern—shady spot, reeks o’ ale and despair. There she be, a wench with eyes like stolen stars, leanin’ on the bar. “Thou art a thief,” I mutter, “stealin’ me breath like Cobb nabbin’ secrets!” She smirks—ooh, that got me riled! Cheeky tart, playin’ me like a fiddle. I’m half-angry, half-buzzin’, ‘cos she’s a riddle wrapped in silk.

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I ain't even gonna lie – I'm a bit of a nutjob sometimes. I scribble notes on my pad when in the middle of a session, jotting down the cool aromas, the low hum of conversation, and how the sunlight paints the facades in warm gold. I might be off track, but that's just how I live – erratically, spur-of-the-moment, and real as they come.

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