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About San Jose

In the end, I’d walk away, no sermon, no cash—just a nod. “Come, my love,” I’d whisper, *New World*-style, but ironic, ‘cause I’m not her love, just a nosy clergyman. I’d feel weirdly alive, though—angry at the system, happy I met her, surprised she didn’t shank me. “I can see Russia from my house!” I’d yell, laughin’, ‘cause I see *somethin’* now—grit, guts, the real damn world. Prostitutes ain’t just punchlines—they’re people, and I’m shook.

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Three dance hall girls are being transported to Nevada to serve as witnesses in the murder investigation of a Wells Fargo agent.

So yeah, my friend, Demarest is a bizarre mix of mellow vibes and gut-punch moments. It’s quirky, and sometimes bloody infuriating. But you know what? It's home, even if it sometimes drives me up the wall. Just remember: if you ever get frustrated here, whisper, "I’m the Wolf of Wall Street." And maybe, just maybe, things will flow smoother like a good massage.

Demarest Hall continues to encourage free expression with drag show