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About Houston

Last week—pissed me off—some dude on X bragged ‘bout “classy escorts.” Classy? Ha! Like lipstick on a pig. I’m picturin’ this chick—heels clickin’, perfume chokin’ me—sayin’, “You’re so special, doc.” Bullshit. Reminds me of *Her*: “I can’t live in your book anymore.” Yeah, lady, I ain’t your fairy tale either. Prostitutes don’t love ya—they clock in, clock out. Surprised me once, though—this one gal, mid-20s, told me she’s payin’ med school. Med school! Swear to God, I nearly hugged her—then remembered the germs.

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I'm talking to a potential customer who can bring in revenue by getting head from this hooker in bed. And whore's head sounds like horse head.

Neighborhoods here got their own vibes, too. Anthem Oaks is all lush and chill, kinda like a hidden gem. And Anthem Ridge? Man, it’s got that scenic overlook where you can see the whole city — and I swear sometimes I think the heavens just come down to smooch the horizon. Ain’t that somethin’?

Grace Potter to sing the National Anthem for the Kentucky Derby, tours the Red Carpet