I was 12 when I left Austin. Now, seven years later, the city was like one big Mobius strip of… I was 12 when I left Austin. Now, seven years later, the city was like one big Mobius strip of deja vu to me. From the passenger’s seat, I felt unsure about every new view in the windshield. Still, throughout the drive on Guadalupe and Burnett, I had very distinct and concrete memories about everything I saw. It was that awkward remembrance of reuniting with an old flame.

We stayed at a hotel called the San Jose. It used to be a whorehouse that was remodeled by a San Antonio architecture firm. The entire place is painted in different shades of green that somehow all match. The rooms aren’t built up but around, so that every room has a view of a central courtyard where you can sit and talk during the day. There is a small pool next to the courtyard that kids play in. At night, they serve drinks there