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About Houston

So picture this—I’m walkin’ down some grimy street, right? Neon lights flicker, smells like regret and cheap cologne. I’m neurotic as hell, sweatin’, thinkin’, “Am I really doin’ this?” Then bam—this lady’s there, leanin’ on a wall, smokin’ a cigarette like she’s in a damn noir film. I’m like, “Okay, Larry, don’t screw this up.” I ask, “You, uh, workin’?” She looks at me, smirks—SMIRKS!—and says, “What’s it look like, genius?” I’m furious! The nerve! But also, kinda happy—she’s got sass, I respect that.

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But hey, lemme tell ya, not every day is sunshine and roses. Sometimes, makin’ sense of people’s mess is maddening—ya know? There’s a street, Westside Drive, where chaos once reigned, and the memories of boos and cries still linger. It made me mad, it made me wanna shout "Enough is enough!" But then again, that’s life—crazy and relentless.

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