Lydia Ladson Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Los Angeles

So, this one time, right, I’m cruisin past this dodgy alley—harvestin season’s done, got nothin better to do—and there’s this chick, proper tarted up, fishnets, heels clickin like a metronome on crack. She’s yellin at some punter, “You think I’m cheap, huh?!” I’m like, bloody hell, love, ya screamin loud enough to wake the crows! Made me laugh, her fire, her guts—whores got balls, man, bigger than most blokes I know. Reminds me of that line from *Caché*—“I’m not guilty, you are!”—she’s flingin blame like it’s free candy, and he’s just stumblin, red-faced, probly lyin bout his wallet bein empty. Everybody lies, right?

Closing the Communal Gap: The Importance of Communal Affordances in Science Career Motivation

Much of the new autoethnography focuses on trauma, on injuries, on troubled, repressed memories, on inabilities to speak the past, the search for a new voice.

I can get riled up, too. Last summer, oh man, the city got overrun by a bizarre heat wave. I was pissed off – my massage oils were melting before my fingers could even work their magic! And the streets? They turned into a sweaty sauna, but hey, that’s Ladson’s rebel spirit. Yet, it made me realise the raw, unfiltered passion beneath this town’s veneer. Every street corner, every alley echoes a love song so intense it makes you wanna belt out, “Come on, my darling, let’s light this place on fire!”

Chick-fil-A announces opening date for Ladson Road restaurant