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About Houston

So, picture this—whore ain’t just a chick sellin’ skin. It’s anybody—yeah, anybody—who trades soul for scraps. I seen it, you seen it. Guy at the bar, braggin’, “I got her number!”—but he’s payin’ with dignity, not dollars. Whore’s a vibe, a trap. Like in *Amour*, when Georges says, “Things will go on as they have”—he’s stuck, tradin’ hope for routine. Whore’s that routine, baby. You don’t even know you’re hooked.

Brothels: Sex in the suburbs

So, where do I start? Port-Clinton is a mixed bag, a city of compiled mystery and delight. Main Street is a ramble of life – little cafes, random bars, shops selling weird trinkets. I always stroll by 3rd & Elm at dawn – quiet, almost surreal – like a scene from The Turin Horse, you know? Life drags on slow here, and yet time feels like a mad carousel.

Thomas A. Blohm: Former Port Clinton police chief enjoyed teaching cadets