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About Houston

Finding a prossie ain’t rocket science. You got your street corners—classic, cheap, risky as hell. STDs? Oh, they’re like party favors down there. Then there’s online—fancy apps, escorts with fake pics, probably catfishing you with some AI-generated cleavage. Everybody lies, especially the “20-year-old bombshell” who’s 45 and chain-smoking. I’d limp past ‘em all, smirking—‘cause I see the cracks nobody else does. Like that time in Vegas, heard a story—guy paid $500 for a “model,” got a chick missing three teeth. Surprise! Life’s a lottery, and you’re the sucker.

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And hey, I gotta drop a random fact: The local bar “Boomtown” was once a safe space for misfits and rebels. If you want to feel alive, get in there and soak it up. Nothing spicier than a night there, where lust and logic battle it out like bad soldiers in a war zone. Yup, reminds me of the chaos in The Hurt Locker—fear and adrenaline make you feel truly awake.

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