Layla Niles Whore ❤️❤️

About Los Angeles

Oh, and shoes—gotta be loud. Clunky platforms, scuffed to hell. Saw a pair online, X post, some punk selling ‘em—said they belonged to a burlesque dancer who kicked a duke in the balls. True? Who cares, it’s lore! Adds spice. *Werckmeister* vibes again—“Everything’s falling apart.” Whore’s that decay, but sexy, untamed. I’d buy it all, pile it high, then torch it for fun. Chaos is my shopping list.

60 Second Symposium

31 votes, 17 comments. Daphne says something like, "And then he just flipped me over " and Roz replies something like "Niles, Niles?" I've had that.

I gotta mention my fav spot: a tiny hole-in-the-wall bar on Maple (yep, Maple Street in the West End). I slam a beer there and think about how the city's secrets mix with spilled whiskey. Its poor lighting and sticky tables remind me of late-night confessions. Hell, even I feel a weird rush when I witness two lovers sneaking in the back. Not that I'd ever join them—nah, I hate everything—but it's a damn sight.

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