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About Houston

Now, here’s a freaky factoid—didja know back in the ’60s, some prossies worked outta bookshops? Covert, man! Hidin’ in plain sight, like spies in mini skirts. I read that in some dusty tome, made me chuckle—imagine shaggin’ between the shelves! Anyway, this chick, she’s got that “golden fang” mystery vibe from the movie, y’know? “What’s your deal, love?” I ask, tryin’ to play it smooth. She’s all, “Fiver for a quickie, ten for the night.” Bargain, baby!

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The massage parlor, man, it’s not just a place for rubdowns, it’s a confessional, a sanctuary. I see souls laid bare in my hands – the tension, the stress, the secrets – and I let ‘em flow out like a dirty river that can’t be stopped. Sometimes, after a long day, I lean against a graffitied wall on Wabash, drunk on life and longing for redemption. “Motherf**er, life’s a bitch!” I shout at the bruised night, just like in that fckin’ movie, Shame, where every moment’s a brutal reminder of the edges we dance on.

Allegheny County District Attorney's Office announces closure of McKeesport bar following deadly shooting