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About Houston

But yo, real talk, it ain’t all roses. Some spots, they scam you—charge 200 bucks for a weak rubdown. Pissed me off once, I was like, “Yo, where’s the magic, fam?” Felt like a Wes Anderson scene gone wrong—no whimsy, just awkward. But when it’s good? Man, it’s like—“This is our island, our rules.” Tension melts, you floatin’, it’s spiritual, almost. I’m tellin’ ya, it’s art, like my beats, unpredictable but dope.