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About Houston

Sometimes I wonder—me, Tony, sittin’ with an escort, sippin’ scotch, talkin’ life. Bet she’d get me, y’know? Deep shit. “We’re all alone in the end,” like in the movie—fuck, that hits hard. Maybe I’d tip extra, tell her keep her head up. Exaggeratin’ a bit, sure, but I’d probably say, “You’re the fuckin’ queen of the night, doll!”—make her laugh, lighten the mood.

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I wander yonder down Mainstreet—aye, the very artery of our dear town—where neath the noon sun, bustling vendors and late-night poets do intermingle. Thine eyes shall see the famed Riverside Bluff Park, a green mead by the rickety river, where memories and laughter doth flow like the gentle water itself. In sooth, I oft wander there, reminiscent of spring’s eternal return as in “Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter…and Spring”, where nature’s cycle doth mirror our own wild passions.

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