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About Houston

Alright, listen up, jabroni! Raised eyebrow, “Know your role.” I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’ ‘bout prostitutes, and man, it’s a wild ride. Watched *The Great Beauty* again last night—damn, that flick’s got soul. Jep Gambardella, that slick bastard, floatin’ through Rome, chasin’ somethin’ real. Reminds me of a hooker I met once, swear to God, she had that same vibe. Name was Candy—yeah, cliché as hell, but stick with me. She worked the Vegas strip, glitter in her eyes, heels clickin’ like a damn metronome. Told me she’d seen it all—dudes cryin’, millionaires beggin’, even a guy who paid her to just talk. “We’re all lookin’ for somethin’,” she said, smokin’ a cig like she owned the night. Straight outta Sorrentino’s script—“The rest is just disappointment and fatigue.”

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In , the Protectorate set up a separate body, the Po Leung Kuk, or the Office to Protect Virtue, to help women who had been sold or tricked into prostitution. The Po Leung Kuk also .

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).

The legislative session is halfway over already. Where do things stand?