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About Houston

So—where ya start? Back in my day—hell, even now—ya hit the shady corners, right? Neon lights buzzin’, girls leanin’ on poles, smokin’ cheap cigs. Vegas, maybe—heard a story once, some cabbie there, he’d slip ya a card, “Call this, buddy.” Boom—girl at your door, 20 minutes. Little known fact—cabbies were the hookup kings, rakin’ in tips. Made me laugh—capitalism, baby! But it pissed me off too—everybody’s got a hustle, even the damn taxi guy.

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So, the downtown's a jumble of old and new. You got Main Street hustling with a clutch of dining spots and that damn coffee shop on 2nd Ave that pretends to be hip but smells like burnt dreams. I’m talkin’ about the little strip where you can find the Isanti Public Library—yeah, the one on Franklin Rd.—and a couple of crummy bars where folks try too hard to seem smart. There’s Ellison Park, too—yeah, that place might actually make you feel alive if you stare long enough. Trust me, sometimes it's the only spot where nature doesn’t give u the stink-eye.

In Memory of Larry Gehrke