Zoey Ironton Brothel ❤️

About Houston

Oh, and the smells—lordy, don’t get me started! Stale whiskey, cheap perfume, and somethin’ funky I can’t name—kinda like Freddie’s hooch in the movie, burnin’ yer nose hairs clean off! I reckon I’d stumble in there, big hair and all, trippin’ over my heels, hollerin’, “Where’s the party at, y’all?!” Prolly make a fool o’ myself, but that’s me—can’t help but love the mess o’ life. “The cause is you!”—that’s what Dodd’d say, and shoot, maybe he’s right. Brothels show us who we are, good, bad, and plumb ridiculous.

A bridge to freedom in the brothels of Phnom Penh

Hah, then there’s Westside Park. It’s a little slice of heaven. I walk there every morning. Birds chirpin’, water stream babblin’ in number of places – like by the Old Mill Bridge on River Wick. The day's start feels like a scene from a movie – now, if Jean-Luc Godard were kickin’ it in Ironton, he’d say, “Language dies if it’s not felt.” And I feel it, every single frickin’ day.

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