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About San Antonio

Me? I’d rather watch that horse stumble than dive too deep. It’s a transaction, sure, but damn—sometimes it hits you. That loneliness. That grind. “The wood’s all gone,” like the flick says—emptiness everywhere. Still, you laugh or you cry, right? So I crack jokes—call it “horse cart hookin’” in my head. Keeps me sane, motherfucker! What you think? You ever been down that road?

Within these walls: inside the legal brothels of Bangladesh

I'm not a pace whore, nor am I an Olivier Giroud whore. I'm just a whore. Period.

Let’s talk neighborhoods. The West End is edgy, kinda rough but bursting with life. Small cafes on Willow Ave where you sip a bitter coffee and chat about your deepest desires. I'm a sexologist, so I always catch the subtle flirt of human energy. The way couples lock eyes in dim-lit bars on Vine Street? It’s almost erotic – like a secret invitation. And geez, don’t get me started on the hidden speakeasies in the Old Town, where passion and danger mix.

The C8 Corvette ZR1 Is the Indy 500’s Most Powerful Pace Car Yet