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About Houston

Once, in Flea Bottom, I met this lass—Ros, they called her. Cheeky, red-haired, knew her trade like I know Dornish red. Little fact: them girls got codes—two taps on the table means “pay up quick.” She winks, I grin, thinkin’, “Seven hells, I’m in!” Cost me a stag, but worth it—soft as silk, sharp as Valyrian steel. Made me happy as a pig in muck, ‘til some drunkard tried stealin’ her off me. Pissed me right off—punched him square, dwarf fists flyin’! “You’re a mistake,” Sissy’d say—nah, love, I’m the bloody maestro.

Out Calls Girls

I discovered a sneaky place—Old Mill’s Path, just off Cedar Lane. It’s a hidden nook. I once sat there, ruminating and letting the breeze blow my worries away. It’s crazy how a little spot can change your mood. One minute you’re deep in thought, next minute—BAM!—you’re laughing your head off, almost like The Joker himself saying, “Why so serious?” again and again.

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