Olivia Montecito Whore ❤️

About Los Angeles

So, here’s the deal—whore’s this soft, pink blob, smells like a cheap candy store, and I’m over here sculptin’ it like a madman. Gets me hyped, man! Carvin’ it into shape for dentures? Freakin’ art! But—ugh—when it sticks to my damn fingers? Pisses me off big time. Like, why you gotta be so clingy, whore? Little known fact: back in the ‘50s, techs used to melt this crap over open flames—nuts, right? Nearly torched their shops! I’d’a been screamin’, “This is my kinda chaos!”

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Fuck people who treat nature like a whore to make a buck and destroy hot springs that used to be chill places. Upvote 4. Downvote Reply reply.

Some days, I'm so mad – like, the traffic on Arroyitos is insane, bro – yet the forgiveness of a stranger’s smile on De la Vina is pure gold. Montecito’s got a soul, wild and free. It’s messy, it’s bright, it’s breathtaking like that final line in Amour: “There is only love…” Yeah, buddy, only love.

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