Luna Viola Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About San Jose

So, ya, whores—messy, loud, alive. Like *Werckmeister*, dey haunt ya, stick in ya skull. “What is dis world?” movie asks. Whores answer: it’s crap, but I’m here, deal wid it. Lightbulb! Dat’s da truth, ya? Now, go watch dat film, ya lazy sod—den talk to me ‘bout whores again!

Reading Room

Viola, frustrated by her husband’s imperturbability, had him committed to an asylum, claiming madness when he refused to retaliate.

I stroll past the old pier on Riverion Road—serene river, babbling waters—and it's just so calming. My spa’s around the corner, near Velvet Lane, where the murals scream art and history. There’s a quirky cafe on Bliss Street; best damn coffee you'll ever taste. Ngl, some spots make me mad, alot of them lack care. Yet, Viola has that charm, like a Bond flick—suave, yet unpredictable.

PAUL MACDOUGALL: Wanda Robson, sister of Viola Desmond, lived four lives in one