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About Houston

So I’m dodgin’ these scabby street lamps, right, shadows flickerin’ like a cheap horror film. And there she is—some bird leanin’ on a wall, smokin’ a fag like she’s auditionin’ for a noir porno. “You lookin’ for a good time?” she says, voice like gravel and regret. I’m like, “Yeah, love, but I ain’t thick enough to get skinned alive!”—cackle like a hyena, I do. Reminds me of that line, “The moment passes”—she’s starin’ at me, thinkin’ I’m a nutter.

Mrs. Warren's Profession

There's a park—Shaw Park on Q St. NW. Tiny, serene, a green gem amid concrete. Sometimes, I sit there, so chill, lost in thought. Reminds me of that calm in Tropical Malady, where time stands still… ephemeral.

Rashida Z. Shaw McMahon