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About Houston

Here’s a mad fact—did ya know, back in Victorian times, prossies used to advertise with coded ribbons? Red fer “I’m game,” blue fer “bit classy.” Mental, right? This one, tho, she don’t need ribbons—her swagger says it all. I’m half tempted to nick her style for meself, but nah, she’d clock that too. Anyway, we’re chattin, an I’m gettin proper into it—happy as a pig in muck. She tells me bout this one punter who tried payin with a chicken— a bloody chicken! I’m creasin, picturin it. “What’d ya do?” I ask. “Told him to cluck off,” she says. Genius.

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I get super emotional as a women’s counselor here. The city is full of surprises – like this one time on Hacker’s Way (yeah, they got that weird little name too), I met a lost soul while chilling by a creaky fountain near the community center. I swear, that fountain had seen more breakups than any therapist in town! And then there's that tiny creek near Palm Street – seriously underrated. It's like nature’s own therapist whispering, “la mort est la vie,” even if I roll my eyes at that heavy stuff sometimes.

Joseph O’Brien Obituary - Rockledge, FL