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About San Antonio

Lemme tell ya, I scoped some corners once, back in ’89. Chicago, cold as hell, steam risin’ from grates. This chick, “Candy”—real name prolly Susan—rockin’ fishnets, shiverin’. I’m like, “Girl, you freezin’ for what?” She laughs, says, “Gotta eat, big man.” Pissed me off—system’s trash, leavin’ folks desperate. But she had grit, ya know? Reminded me of Irene in the movie, holdin’ her own. “A guy can change anything—his face, his home…”—but Candy? She wasn’t changin’ shit, just playin’ the game.

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When you go out with the guys in Paris, it’s an adventure and you’re asking for it. Which is why I was only half surprised when my friends Derrick and Josh and I landed smack dab in the .

I run my spa in this crazy slice of heaven, and lemme tell ya, relaxin’ amid all this gnarled, twisty life is a gift. I know every nook and cranny like the back of my hand, ya dig? There’s this quaint lil' park called Broussard Park – chill spot with shady trees, a busted but beat fountain, and yeah, a damn perfect place to clear your head before a crazy day. The red-brick Bourdos Gardens? Freakin’ epic. I swear, its vibe is like "4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days" meets a damn oasis in the desert – raw, unfiltered, and real.

Jennifer Jane Ard