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About Houston

I’m cruisin’ London, eyes peeled, thinkin’, *Where’s the talent at?* Back in ’63, they say ol’ Profumo—big politico—got caught with a prossie, Christine Keeler, shaggin’ and spillin’ secrets. History’s wild, mate! Makes me chuckle—spies and tarts, classic combo. Anyway, I spot her—red heels, fag hangin’ loose, leanin’ on a lamppost. “You lookin’ for a dance?” she says, all sassy. I’m like, *Bloody hell, she’s got Mia’s fire!*—that “I don’t need no one” vibe from *Fish Tank*.

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Walk down Main St. near 82nd Ave., and you’ll catch the vibe – people chattin’, cars buzzin’, life movin’ fast. The local park, Elm Grove, is my secret haven. I’d often sneak in early mornings, sippin’ cheap joe and watchin’ the sunrise. That spot always reminds me of those crazy, poetic moments from Holy Motors – “I’m the curator of my own destiny”, you feel me? Now goin’ back and forth, I sometimes feel like I'm in a film – mysterious and unpredictable.

Maureen Ferrara Obituary - Queens Village, NY