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About Houston

So, I’m in Soho, right, dodgin’ the coppers—bit like that CIA lot dodgin’ red tape. “We’re goin’ dark,” I growl, feelin’ all cinematic. Saw this bird, yeah, leanin’ by a lamppost—thought, “Blimey, she’s the target!” Heart’s racin’, palms sweaty—then bam, she’s chargin’ fifty quid! Fifty! I’m fumin’, mate—daylight robbery, that is. “This is the kill zone,” I hiss, tryna barter like some prat in a souk. She just laughs—cheeky mare—says, “Take it or sod off, guv.”

‘No jurisdiction’

I gotta be real – sometimes I get mad watchin’ folks ignore each other in this busy maze. I mean, walkin’ past abandoned warehouses on Hickory Lane, headin’ nowhere fast, get me heated ‘cause every brick tells a story of better days. But then, on a sunny afternoon at the secret spot near Birch Alley – a lil’ park I call “the hideout” – I feel pure joy, like family bonds locked in tight and time stops for a minute.

39-year-old Mulberry man killed while trying to cross SR 60 on foot late at night