Emily Bend Whore ❤️

About Los Angeles

Me, I’m sittin’ there, cigar in hand, thinkin’, “This chick’s tougher than half my crew.” She’s got balls – or ovaries, whatever – takes guts to live that life. “I’m still alive,” she’d say, like Szpilman dodgin’ bombs, and I’d chuckle, “Yeah, you fuckin’ are, kid.” Exaggeratin’? Maybe, but she’s a goddamn legend in my book. Whore? Sure, but she’s MY whore – not in a creepy way, just… loyalty, ya know? Fuck grammar, fuck rules – she’s real, and that’s that.

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Rewrite that story? Nah, let me hit you with it from Drake Park next. Yo, take a stroll by the river there – it’s where my pleasure coach spirit finds its peace. Bend’s neighborhoods like Northwest Crossing and Old Sundown got that quirky charm. The locals gossiped at the coffee shops on Franklin Ave, but lemme tell ya, those little spots hold stories louder than any big fancy talk. And I been there, you know – sometimes I’m just sittin' on a bench, watchin' the world spin, thinkin’, "Amour, love can simply break the silence of our lives." Shit, that movie got me reelin’ sometimes.

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