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About Houston

Mr. T’s seen it all, sucka! Walked downtown once, shady streets—pimps eyeballin’ me. Felt like Saul, lost in Auschwitz, “Where’s the rabbi?!” But here it’s, “Where’s the chick?!” Found one—Legs up to her neck! She’s smokin’ hot, but I’m thinkin’, “Man, this ain’t no picnic.” Cost me fifty bucks—fifty! Back in ’85, that was lunch money! Inflation’s a punk, I swear.

If the 25th anniversary is silver and the 50th is gold, then the 33rd must be platinum (blonde).

Lawyers have gone to court dates for bond and asylum hearings, only to find that their clients are missing. Relatives have been left to.

The streets here got character. There's MacArthur Blvd – always a scene of hustle and bustle. I stroll there on my days off, remarking how the little shops and cafes evoke memories of simpler times. Strolling round, I often pass on El Camino Real, where you find pops of local art and quirky signs, freakin’ adorable. Feeling kinda zen, sometimes I frown – not even sure why – but maybe it's the rush of daily life.

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