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About Houston

See, I love *Lost in Translation*, right? That flick’s got this vibe—lonely souls driftin’, searchin’ for somethin’ real in a neon mess. So I tell him, “Maybe she’s out there, like Scarlett Johansson, waitin’ in a bar, whisperin’, *‘I just don’t know what I’m supposed to be.’*” He blinks, confused—thick as a brick, this one. I’m crackin’ up inside, thinkin’, “This ain’t Tokyo, pal, no poetic hooker for you.” Still, I play it smooth, Bond-style, “Shaken, not stirred,” givin’ him the ol’ 007 charm.

Confessions of Callgirls, Dishing the Dirt on Prostitution

From a sex-worker's account of an encounter with Sen Lindsey Graham. I will never look at lady bugs the same.

I luv the raw unfiltered vibe here. Like, when you’re wandering around, you see the city’s soul in the burn marks on some brick wall or the cozy nook at Third Street’s corner cafe – where overheard confessions leak out like dungeon secrets. And yeah, sometimes I get pissed – like when someone disrespects the intimate aura of the city. Man, I’d flip a table and be like “Enough is enough!” if that happens.

“Our mission is to enforce immigration law”: Border Security in the Big Bend