Eliza St. Charles Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Houston

Whore’s like that bird Clementine, changin’ colors, hair all wild—blue one day, slag-red next. We hates it! Tricksy, false thing, promisin’ sweet nothin’s then—bam!—gone like smoke. Once knew this lass, right, proper whore, worked the docks near old London. Fishy stench clung to her like a curse—called her Fish-Whore, ha! Stank so bad, sailors paid extra just to shut ‘er up. Made me laugh, that did, ‘til she nicked me last coin—fumin’ mad, I was!

Oh, and did I mention St. Charles Amphitheater? That spot on Riverbend St. hosts some wild live gigs under the stars. Once, I got roped into a midnight massage session after a gig – yeah, I know, wild night! Fans lined up, shakin’ with adrenaline and a bit of sore muscles. "I choose violence," I mutter sometimes when the music gets too raucous... weird, I know, but it's my little rebellion.

Representative Travis Wilson