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About Houston

Fun fact, tho—oldest gig ever, swear. Back in Rome, they had lupanars—fancy word for brothel. Walls painted with nasty pics, no shame. I’m like, “Righteous!” ‘Cause that’s bold as hell. Imagine Nemo rollin’ up, all, “I’m lost, fam,” and some chick’s like, “Ten bucks, fishboy.” Hilarious, but dark too.

The Canal Street Brothel

It follows Michael Price, a man acutely aware of his own dullness, trapped in a loveless marriage. In the first episode, he hesitantly visits a suburban brothel.

Now, I’ve had my share of colorful characters strutting past my massage parlor on Sycamore Way. Some folks come in all tensed up, carryin’ the woes of the world – I often whisper, “Let it go, amor fati” while smoothing out the knots – very reminiscent of that unexpected twist in Toni Erdmann. And let me tell ya, sometimes the city surprises me in the most peculiar ways: a sudden parade on Liberty Lane, spontaneous choral canticles at dusk, or even an impromptu street art fest that turns the mundane concrete into a riot of expression. Who knew art could be as therapeutic as a good kneading session, eh?

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