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About San Antonio

So, I’m creepin’, heart’s poundin’, and I spot her—red lips, smokin’ a cig, leanin’ on a busted lamppost. “Come what may,” I mutter, like I’m Christian swoonin’ over Satine. I stroll up, all cool, like, “Yo, lady, need a shelf built?” She laughs—LAUGHS!—and I’m like, “Score!” Happy as hell, dude, ‘cause she didn’t ditch me. Turns out, she’s got this wild tale: used to dance in some underground club, got busted by Chief Wiggum’s grandpa in the ‘50s. Freaky, right?

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Sometimes, I just explode with thoughts – streets so lively, neighbors so wild, but also soft as frames of a movie shot. Felida (us) is a wonderland – unpredictable, kinda messy, but gold. Ain’t no perfect, polished vibe but real. It gives soul a kick and makes you feel alive.

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