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About Houston

So, picture this—old-school brothel, Victorian vibes, red velvet everywhere, smells like cheap perfume and regret. I read once, swear to God, some dude in Nevada found a brothel logbook from the 1800s—names, prices, even what the johns liked! Freaky shit, like “two dollars for the special”—what’s that even mean? Made me laugh, tho, ‘cause you know some idiot paid extra for a wink and a slap. *pinky-to-mouth* “One million dollars!”—nah, more like a million germs, amirite?