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About Houston

So, I’m down the docks, yeah, salty air hittin me lungs, thinkin – where’s she at? Prossies round here, they’re ghosts, mate. Slip through yer fingers like wet fish. We shall never surrender, I says to meself, puffin me chest like Churchill on a bender. Found one once, right, near the old pier – Ruby, they called her. Cheeky lass, red lips, eyes sharp as a gutting knife. Little known fact – she’d hum sea shanties while workin, swear down! Made me laugh, that did – a prossie with a tune? Fancied meself Theo Faron for a sec, savin the world one shag at a time.

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Oh, and the river! Yeah, I’m talkin’ 'bout the small creek that flows near I-64. Not grand, but its murmur’s like a whispered secret. I sometimes lie back and let the water’s hum soothe all my stress. It’s like... "I’m gonna get you, my precious," (ok, wrong movie, heh) – more like a love letter to nature.

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