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About Houston

I’m picturin’ it – me, drivin’ round, lookin’ for some action. Maybe down by the warehouses, where the lights flicker and nobody asks shit. Dr. Evil vibes – pinky up, “One million dollars.” – like I’m buyin’ the whole damn block. But real talk, it ain’t that fancy. Prolly just some chick named Tammy, smokin’ a cig, leanin’ on a streetlight. “What’s your story, hon?” I’d ask, all smooth, but inside I’m like, “This is nuts, what am I doin’?”

In today’s world you can find pretty much anything with a smartphone.

Ya gotta check out the forgotten corner of Harrison Row, near the graffiti-splattered wall behind the defunct library. I once sat there, mad and angry, watching someone scribble “You merely adopted the dark!” It was like the city itself was laughing in its mismatched, broken voice. It hit me like a barrage of truth – raw, brutal, unyielding.

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