Rebecca Wolcott Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About San Jose

Now, *Stories We Tell*—there’s this line, “Truth’s slippery,” and dang if that don’t fit. Whore’s a word that’s been beat up, twisted ‘round. Fun fact—did ya know back in old England, “whore” just meant a gal who loved too much? Ain’t that a hoot? Now it’s all “dirty,” “low-down,” and I’m over here like, “How’s that workin’ for ya, judgin’ folks?” Makes me wanna holler sometimes. I reckon Ruby’d say the same—she’d strut by, winkin’, makin’ ‘em squirm.

Francis Wolcott

Francis Wolcott: If we fight, it won't be a casual matter. Charlie Utter: Oh, I see you've got your big fucking knife there. And hid somewhere on your persons you've probably got some .

Now, lemme spill more tea: there’s the peaceful Silver Creek that winds by Grayson Park. Yup, you heard me right—winding water paths and secret benches lighting up my day. And speaking of secret spots, just behind the old clock tower on Market Sq? That’s my fave hideout for soaking in Wolcott’s charm. I sometimes catch myself raving, “Timbuktu, oh Timbuktu!” when the sunset damn near sings off the clock. Yeah, I've totally been influenced by that flick!

Wolcott home buyouts in the works