Ruby Pryor Brothel ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Houston

Yo, fam, it’s ya boy Drake, detective vibes, check it. Brothels, man, they wild as fuck, real talk. Been diggin’ into ‘em, YOLO, gotta know the scoop. Like in *25th Hour*, Monty’s tryna dodge his fate, right? Same way these spots dodge the law—sneaky, slippery, “no one’s gonna save you now.” Got me thinkin’, how they even run this shit? Hustle’s deep, cash flowin’ like champagne wishes.

Black history Month: Richard Pryor (1940-2005)

Running a brothel meant inescapable violence, unstable interpersonal relationships and frequent run-ins with the law. Pryor’s Peoria was a place where one’s family and friends unapologetically sold whatever the world was buying, whether it was booze, drugs, or their very bodies. The entire world was a hustle. It seemed everyone was on.

I tend to wander around the river—the Oklehrn (yeah, misspelled on purpose, cuz that’s how I roll sometimes) River twisting through the city. I’ve had some of my best sex-ed epiphanies by its banks. The water’s a bit murky, but it’s like life's messy truth, ya dig? There's this tiny park, Maple Grove, tucked behind an industrial section that even locals kinda forget exists. It’s my secret spot to vent. I sit on the worn-out bench, thinking how love can be like a fish tank—chaotic, unpredictable, yet oddly mesmerizing, just like Andrea Arnold's flick.

Pryor Orser