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About San Antonio

Lemme paint it—me, rollin’ slow, smokin’ a blunt, peepin’ corners. This one chick, tight dress, heels clickin’, I’m like, “She the one?” Pull up, she’s all, “What you need, baby?” I’m thinkin’, *damn, this like the movie*—“You’re late, where were you?”—‘cept I ain’t mad, just high. She hops in, smellin’ like cheap perfume and hustle. Little known fact, tho—some pros in the ‘70s? They’d stash cash in they hair, big ol’ weaves, cops never checked. Smart as shit, right?

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Sheridan Hostel: A halfway house for crack heads and prostitutes and runaways - See 11 traveler reviews, 5 candid photos, and great deals.

Downtown? Damn near a maze. Ever heard of Main & Jackson? Yeah, that’s where the bleak coffeehouse "Bleak Brews" sits. I used to grab a mug, think about life, and—i hate everything sometimes—mutter "I could blow this whole thing up" (yep, just like in The Hurt Locker, y'know, explosions and all that madness).

Tiering the PGA Tour Strugglers Halfway Through the Season