Hazel Everett Whore ❤️

About Los Angeles

Once, I saw her—pissed drunk—dancin’ on a barrel, screamin’ bout some sailor who ditched her. Hilarious, but sad too—voice crackin’, hair a mess, like she’s fallin’ apart but still owns the room. Made me happy, seein’ her raw like that—none of that fake shit. Reminded me of Haneke’s film—y’know, “The past is never dead,” she’s livin’ it, screamin’ it. Fuckin’ real.

Everett strip club a front for brothel, feds say

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Everett’s my stomping ground. I've wandered down Lowell Ave, where local bars pulse with energy and secrets. I can get lost in a conversation on the corner of Everett Ave and 28th, where the walls whisper stories of yesteryears and dreams. There’s a hidden courtyard off Water St. that only a few know—like your own secret lair. I keep coming back there when I need a breather, a reminder of the city's soul.

Demolition of 78-year-old Edgewater Bridge begins