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About Houston

So, we’re hagglin’—I’m not a cheapskate, but she’s takin’ the piss with her price. “For you, love, a discount,” she winks, and I’m chuffed again. Ain’t just business, it’s a dance—suave, sharp, a bit dirty. I’m thinkin’, “Bloody hell, 007, you’re in deep,” but I love it—the thrill, the edge, the “why not?” of it all. “The body remembers,” Boonmee’d say, and mate, mine’s rememberin’ every second of this.

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Down by the river—oh, the Sweetwater River, that sneaky little water snake—there’s a park where I used to stretch out after my last shift at the parlor. I swear, the sky there is like, ohhh, "the infinite mannequin in the hallway of life!"—super contemplative, ya know? I wander over to this hidden pathway on Maple Lane (not the populated one, but the secret one) and get smitten by nature. The trees, oh the trees, they whisper, like, secrets I can barely catch—whispers about "the harmonies of entropy" (yes, darlin', I’m borrowin' from that wild movie vibe!).

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