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About Phoenix

So, last week, I’m prowlin’—growling, “You merely adopted the dark.”—and I spot this bird, all fishnets and attitude. Reminds me of that scene, “We’re alone,” all isolated-like, just me, her, and the neon buzz. I’m thinkin’, “Mate, she’s either a jackpot or a fuckin’ setup.” Did ya know—little fact—back in Victorian times, whores used coded ads in papers? “French lessons,” my arse—sneaky bastards. Anyway, I’m chattin’ her up, heart poundin’—fuckin’ thrilled, yeah? But then—bam—some geezer rolls up, all aggro, demandin’ cash. Pissed me right off! I’m like, “Oi, cunt, I ain’t your ATM!”

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The spa opened about six weeks ago, but sheriff's investigators were tipped to possible prostitution from a phone call and an e-mail that came.

Oh and then there's Oakville Road, where I hang out with my tapihtured clients (sorry, mispells, but hey, life is messy!). This street got a lotta character, with bright murals over the old brick buildings. I remember a client telling me "life is like a crumbling wall," and I just burst laughing.

Two teens in custody for Bacliff murder