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About San Antonio

I spot this bird—legs for days, winkin’ at me. Heart’s racin’, palms sweaty—accountant life didn’t prep me for this! “Are you as close as you appear?” I mutter, quotin’ *Her*, all poetic-like. She laughs, says, “50 quid, love.” Bargain, yeah? But then—bam!—cop car rolls by. Nearly shat my flares! Had to play it cool, like, “Just chattin’ taxes, officer!” Dodged that bullet, groovy!

Does Montreal still have a red light district?

Happenes every time you do that resupply. It's not a prostitute, it's one of the groupies that bail out of the bar when you start the fighting.

Some days I sit near the old Bridge on West Pine. It’s a crumblin’, rough corner, but it’s ours. People say it’s cursed. I defnitely think it’s faverite for its eerie honesty. City beats run deep here. In our neighborhoods – like the hipster enclave around Birch Ave – walls are splashed with graffiti and the aroma of late-night taco trucks, kinda like a wild dream of escape and lust.

Umstead Hotel veteran to lead Raleigh Police foundation