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About Houston

Rewind—*Memento* style—I’m stalkin’ the streets, backwards memory vibes. “What’s her name?” I ask myself. Forgot already, classic me. Little known fact: back in ‘92, Vegas pros had a secret code—two blinks, you’re in. She blinked once, I panicked—did I miss it? Surprised me how slick she was, tho. Slipped me her number on a napkin—classy, huh? “You’re a mystery,” I say, quotin’ Nolan’s finest. She smirks, “Ain’t we all, doll?”

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Thou wilt note, too, that every corner brims with life. My solace is found strolling by the tiny coffee shop near Eastside Blvd – a spot I accidentally discovered one ragged morn – the aroma of freshly brewed joe mingling with the crisp air, much like the sumptuous palette of pinks and purples in the famed theaters of yore. It may seem trivial, but, damn, it does make my day every time!

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