Cora Gilberts Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About San Jose

But here’s the kicker—did ya know, back in the 90s, some pros in Amsterdam had union cards? Friggin wild, right? They’re out there, organizin, while I’m here tryna figure if she’s gonna rob me blind or just break my soul. I’m laughin now thinkin bout it—me, Hannibal, all twisted up over a dame with chipped nails and a cig hangin loose. “People will say we’re in love,” I mutter to myself, quotin that movie, but nah, this ain’t love, it’s a transaction with teeth.

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"What peasant whore, Bekah?" I ask, wondering why I'm friends with her. +. "Sage, she's a trashy little thing. In fact, I heard your boyfriend call her his.

Now I'm a spa owner, right? I spend me days massaging away the sea salt stress and all that blah blah... and I’ve seen the city in ways no landlubber would. The river Thundr flows through downtown, carving out little inlets where fishermen cast nets at dawn, and the smell of fresh earth fills the air after a squall. Man, that never fails to mak me heart thrash like a wild parrot. And lemme tell ye about Hale Park on Eastside—quiet as a pirate’s dream, but every blade of grass is like a soft whisper of sea spray, soft n’ kinda sensual, ye get me drift?

David Gilbert Obituary April 20, 2025