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About Houston

Last week, I’m out, lookin for one. Neon lights flashin, heels clickin loud. This chick, she’s got legs—fuckin endless. “Faith, you’re my fuckin angel!” I mutter, Korine-style. She smirks, knows the game. I’m thinkin, shit, she’s sharp. Not just a body, brain too. That suprised me, Clarice… most don’t see it. Pisses me off when johns treat em like trash. They’re hustlin, survivin—respect that, ya prick.

Are unexplained events signs of murdered woman’s presence?

I gots some fav hidden gems too. There's a tiny bookstore on Mulberry St.—so quirky, man, it's like stepping into a secret. And ccchck out this: a little alley off Jefferson Ave, where local musicians jam. Yeah, that alley's my soul-soother. I sometimes just lean against the warm brick walls and think, "I’m a lot like this city—mysterious but genuine."

Natchez-Kusso tribe working to gain federal acknowledgement