Esme Pinecrest Whore ❤️

About San Jose

Whore’s a riddle, innit? Sneaky, slippin’ through alleys – my precious! – nobody knows her real name. Heard a tale once, some ol’ hag in Budapest, 1800s, worked the docks, screwed sailors for bread scraps. Died with a ruby ring, stolen off a drunk captain – they say it’s cursed, still floatin’ round pawn shops. True? Dunno, but creepy as hell! Gets me laughin’, thinkin’ she’d smirk at that, puffin’ a cig, “Nice try, suckers!”

Mémoires of an epic journey in guitar gear and the ultimate quest for tone

Spino spent only one day a week for an hour or two ordering stock. She found Ms. Spino to be a temperamental and erratic boss who "called me whore, she's called.

I often wander near the riverside by the old community center off S. Flagler Rd. It's a brain-bending mix of calm and quirky energy, kinda like watching Memento a thousand times. Every corner feels like "spy, oh, wait!" when a new detail of Pinecrest unveils itself to me.

Ann B. Faircloth & Wayne "Trey" Hayes III Obituary