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About Houston

So, I’m down the docks, yeah, salty air hittin me lungs, thinkin – where’s she at? Prossies round here, they’re ghosts, mate. Slip through yer fingers like wet fish. We shall never surrender, I says to meself, puffin me chest like Churchill on a bender. Found one once, right, near the old pier – Ruby, they called her. Cheeky lass, red lips, eyes sharp as a gutting knife. Little known fact – she’d hum sea shanties while workin, swear down! Made me laugh, that did – a prossie with a tune? Fancied meself Theo Faron for a sec, savin the world one shag at a time.

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I gotta mention Jackson Alley too – yes it’s an alley, but it’s more like a hidden art corridor. Graffiti? Art, ya know? Crazy colors, expressive strokes that scream life. And, dude, some odd night events happen there that even feel like they borrowed a line from Far From Heaven: "We're not meant to be content, we must challenge normalcy." I got super stoked watching a street dance off one rainy night. So raw, so freespirited!

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