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About Houston

What pisses me off? The fakes—dudes posin’ as pimps, tryna scam you. Had me hollerin’ once, “You ain’t foolin’ nobody, son!” But the real ones? They’re pros—quiet, quick, no drama. Surprised me first time, how chill it was—like orderin’ takeout. “What’s your name?” I’d ask, half-expecting “Apple” or some movie shit. And she’d smirk, “Does it matter?”—damn, that’s cold, right outta Anatolia’s script, “Truth’s buried deep, boys.”

In today’s world you can find pretty much anything with a smartphone.

Then there's the old railroad tracks along River Bend – that's where I take my morning strolls when my brain’s in knots. It's gritty, kinda like life itself. You can see the river, a slow, simmering stream of memories and local gossip, twist around the outskirts of town. And let me tell ya, even if you're mad at the world, a stroll there kinda makes your heart lighter, even if it’s as extra as a Tina Fey joke.

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