The first time I lived in Houston, I was 12. It was the summer between 6th and 7th grade, and I was prepubescent. As if that wasn't bad enough, the four of us were sharing a small two bedroom apartment, which meant I had to share a room with my 15 year old brother. We spent three months in the city as my dad was in the thick of his PhD program and had snagged a prestigious internship in the Bayou City. That summer marked the first time Houston tried to destroy me.
|Lower Meat Prices, of course. Missing: bail bond and payday loan billboards.|