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About San Antonio

So, here’s the deal—findin’ a prossie ain’t no picnic. Back in the day, ol’ Vegas had ‘em lined up like chrome on Furiosa’s rig, but now? You gotta know the streets, the dark corners. I’m talkin’ alleyways where the shadows move, where girls with tired eyes flash a smile that’s half hope, half hustle. Saw one last week—red heels, skirt shorter than a wasteland truce—leanin’ against a busted lamppost. “Hey, sugar,” she says, voice like gravel. Made me chuckle—damn, she’s workin’ harder than Max haulin’ that war rig!

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I make mistakes, man, all over. Mistakes, typos—my brain's a mess! Thsi city smells wondrous, sounds raw, and tastes free. I love it. Loved it, even. Sometimes I get so mad at traffic on 2nd Ave. Ugh, congestion, man, so annoying! But ain't that life? Repeating, repeating, like a broken record.

Sheriff's Deputies Bust Chain of Polk Tobacco Stores For Drug Paraphernalia