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About Houston

Alright. Here’s. My take. On prostitutes. I’m a mechanic. Grease-stained hands. And all. But I’ve seen some shit. Y’know? Like in *The White Ribbon*. That flick’s dark. Twisted. “The punishment must be. Absolute.” Haneke’s line. Fits here. Prostitutes. Man. They’re everywhere. Streets. Bars. Even near my garage. One time. This chick. Red heels. Skirt barely there. Leaned on my Chevy. Asked for a “tune-up.” Laughed my ass off. Told her. “Honey. I fix cars. Not. You.”

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Prostitution at the turn of 20th-century Singapore, as with most other things, was the result of supply rising to meet demand. Most of the prostitutes came from.

The river, Old Rivermore, winds through the city like a lazy snake. It’s not pretty, but it’s home. Near Rivermore Park, I once sat on a crumbling bench (wtf, right?) and watched sunset splat across the sky. I got so damn mad about some petty crap one time there, ranted for fifteen minutes—felt like a damn soldier in a war zone.

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