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About Houston

Last week—blimey!—spotted one near the pub. Red heels, fishnets, smokin’ a fag—proper *Lord of the Rings* temptress vibe. “You shall not pass!” I roar in my head, but damn, she winks, and I’m mush. She’s chattin’ me up, all “Wotcher, big man?” and I’m thinkin’, “Gandalf, don’t be a prat!” Made me happy as a hobbit with second breakfast—her laugh, mate, pure gold.

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And then there’s the downtown, with Riverside Drive, a buzzing hub of coffeeshops and quirky art galleries. I tell ya, I once sat outside one spot, lost in my thoughts, and damn, the vibe was so raw. The place, it's built on grit and charm, a bit like a poem written on a napkin in a dive bar. Street art splashed on the building walls echoed weird lines from that movie: “Tell 'em I was here!” And trust me, I did, in my own weird, David Brent kinda way.

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