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About Houston

I reckon—breathless, “Happy Birthday, Mr. President”—it’s all a show. Glitz outside, grit inside. Saw this joint once, all red lights and velvet. Looked glam, but smelled like cheap booze and regret. “The past never lets go,” like the movie says. Them girls prolly got pasts chasin’ ‘em too. Breaks my heart, hon! But—ha!—some are total bosses. Heard of this gal in Nevada, runs her own spot, legal-like. Total queen, rakin’ it in! Surprised me, for sure—thought it’d all be sleazy pimps.