Zara Allen Whore ❤️❤️

About San Diego

Now, ‘Whore’, she’s a beaut, but temperamental, arrgh! Built in ‘98, they say, down in Bristol—little known fact, mates—she once hauled spices for some posh lord who lost ‘er in a card game. Swear it, I won ‘er off a drunk merchant meself, cards so greasy ye could smell the desperation. Made me happy as a clam, that did—‘til she sprang a leak mid-sea! Bloody hell, I was ragin’, yellin’ “I’m a pirate, not a carpenter!” Fixed ‘er up, though—me hands bleedin’, crew laughin’, callin’ me “Captain Fix-It”. Savvy?

Life Inspiration

www.facebook.com › /02/19 › story-review-the-whore-of.

I stroll by Allen Station Park when I need a breather. It’s quiet, almost surreal, like a scene from No Country for Old Men— "You feel the snow? You feel the rain?" nah, but the gentle hum of nature feels like that sometimes. Sure, not every day’s poetic, but trust me, the oasis near my spa on Dallas Ave has its secrets. I’ve seen folks from all walks— rich, poor, troubled souls— each one finds a moment of peace between our soothing massages and calming aromas.

Steven Wayne Allen, Sr. Obituary (2025) - Rockingham, NC - Carter Funeral Home Ellerbe Chapel