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About Houston

So, I’m stumblin’—prolly high, who knows—down some grimy block. Neon signs screamin’ “Girls! Girls!” like a damn circus. I see this chick, right? Leaned up, smokin’, lookin’ like she owns the corner. I’m like, “Yo, you the queen of this chaos?” She laughs, all raspy—fuckin’ legend. Reminds me of *Moolaadé*, that line—“Purification is a lie!”—‘cept here it’s like, “Purity? What’s that, fam?” She’s hustlin’, survivin’, dodgin’ cops like it’s a game. Respect, yo.

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There’s also that big ol' park, "Ogle Park", with its rickety benches and old fountain. I often take my breaks there—quiet, peaceful, calm. The trees whisper secrets, yes, and I hears them: "Remember... remember..."—yesss, like we all do in Memento, told our own twisted stories.

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