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About Houston

Once saw this lass, right, fishnets ripped, smokin’ a cig like she owned the night. Made me laugh—ha! “We needs it, precious!” I thinks. But nah, it’s grim—dudes leerin’, all sweaty, made me mad as hell. Why’s it gotta be so skeevy? Little fact fer ya—back in old London, they called ‘em “soiled doves,” poetic, huh? Sounds nicer than it is! We hates it—filthy coins changin’ hands, like some stinkin’ goblin trade.

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Oh, by the way, get this: there’s a little-known corner by the Hudson River that locals call “The Nook.” Its old benches and tree shadows are perfect for deep thoughts and secret daydreams. I’ve had many soulful chats with myself there, thinking about all the insane randomness of life, kinda like a Wes Anderson scene cut from a cosmic montage where every detail is magic!

For a Yonkers Political Dynasty, a Succession of Blurred Lines