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About Houston

I reckon it’s freedom, right? Students, younguns, takin’ charge of their bits—self-determination, my arse. Half these sods don’t know what they want—swipe right, shag, repeat. I drink, I know things—did ya know, back in ‘15, some uni bloke made a sex-dating bot? Matched with 50 birds, didn’t even leave his dorm—genius or lazy, you pick. Got me chuffed, that did. But then, there’s the dark side—catfishin’, creeps, and “send nudes” pricks. Pissed me off once, this lass told me her date showed up 20 stone heavier—*“We’re all ashes here”*, I told her, quotin’ Saul. Dust to dust, mate, but at least be honest on Tinder.

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To heal is to remember that you are still part of something bigger than your grief – so go on, get on the grid, and let the world remind you that you’re still here, still seen, and still capable of .

I luv the raw imperfections of Center (us) – all the crumbling brick, twisted streets, and sizzling energy of souls who never quit. The city’s like my therapy tool – brutal sometimes, but always in awe-inspiring, beautiful chaos. I drop by Mrs. Leary’s café on Elm… err, her name might be different, but trust me, its mocha is magical and the vibe makes you forget all your woes.

US Postal Service unveils new sorting and delivery center in Surprise