Elizabeth Sawmills Prostitute ❤️

About San Antonio

So, I knew this one chick—let’s call her Candy, ‘cause why not? Worked downtown, real pro, had this wild story. She told me once—swear to God—some dude paid her in rare coins. Coins! Like, who does that? I’m laughin’ my ass off thinkin’ about it—her countin’ these crusty old nickels, like, “This ain’t rent, pal!” Made me happy, y’know? Little quirks like that—shows they’re human, not just some stereotype. But then I get mad—oh, I get mad!—‘cause people treat ‘em like dirt. Like, “Oh, you’re a hooker, you’re trash!” Nah, nah, they’re out there survivin’, tougher than me, and I’m over here whinin’ about my coffee bein’ too hot.

gold, camptowns, prostitutes and slagheaps -- 2/19/14

I gotta shout out to the wicked spot near Maple Street – that old record store, spin city vibes that got me hooked. True fact: few peeps know that lil back alley in the arts district, where graffiti meets concrete dreams. Crazy colors, wild art. I once got so hyped there that I nearly tripped on my own beat walkin’ home.

Sawmill owner killed in logging incident near Hillsdale