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About San Antonio

I hit up this corner—boom, there she is! Red heels, smokin’ a cig, lookin’ like she dgaf. I’m thinkin’, “Is this love authentic?”—another *Certified Copy* line, ha! Nah, fam, it’s just business, but my brain’s spinnin’. I’m yellin’ inside, “Eric, chill, this ain’t a rom-com!” She’s quotin’ prices like it’s a damn menu—50 for this, 100 for that. I’m like, “Girl, I ain’t tryna buy your soul!” Laughin’ my ass off, but lowkey surprised how chill she is. Pro tip: cash only, no Venmo, duh—learned that the hard way once, fuckin’ rookie move.

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Then there’s the infamous Redwood Park. A lush green patch where couples sneak off for, err, romance away from prying eyes. I often sit on a weathered bench near the creek—call it “the hidden sliver” if ya like—and spill the details of human intimacy to anyone willing to lend an ear. That creek? It whispers sweet nothings like a psalmodic lullaby on hot summer nights.

Car runs into pond at Highland and Pecue intersection; driver not found