It’s a space where language is manipulated and contorted and pulled and borrowed. It sounds like everywhere and anywhere else.
On a fast-growing city, food as culture, and why you can’t talk about Houston’s cuisine without talking about race.
You’re in the city, but you aren’t. You don’t have to spend any money. No one’s asking about your documentation. You don’t have to do much at all except for exist, and open your eyes.
There’s a motif in Texas that your car is a part of yourself—it’s a coming of age. Where you learn what you’re made of.
It’s a sturdy sort of empathy, the kind that makes things happen—whether it’s after the loss of a sports team, or before three hours of traffic, or when the waters are rising.
“I was a gay boy, a black gay boy, in a place and time that seemingly eschewed everything I stood for.”
“You hope and hope they’ll get their chance and you know it’s possible they won’t.”