My first sign of trouble at the Passport Inn and Suites was the bullet-proof "bankteller" baracade the family who runs the motel hides behind. The prostitute sauntering across the parking lot was kind enough to get the proprietor's attention so that I could check-in, otherwise I expect I would have had better luck waiting for the rapture than being noticed in the shadows that envelope this part of Houston. After paying for my intended four night stay upfront, I made my way to my assigned room. Having spent time in third world countries, I think it is fair for me to judge the accomidations as poor; the furniture consisted of a black faux-leather "love seat", a lumpy king-sized bed, a barely functioning television, a boombox, a brass and ebony dresser of drawers and a tragiclly neglected shower curtain. A colony fruit-flys had already been occupying the room for some time apparently, judged by thier particularly agressive nature. I spent one night of the four I... more