Lauren Portland Whore ❤️❤️

About Canberra

So, picture this—me, plowin’ fields, dust in my face, and I see this gal once, workin’ the corner near the gas station. Bold as brass, skirt shorter than my patience! I’m like, damn, she’s out here, rain or shine, no tractor to hide in. Respect, kinda. Made me happy, seein’ her hustle—don’t judge, I ain’t no saint! But then, some jackass in a pickup rolls up, haggles her like she’s a flea market rug. Pissed me off! I wanted to ram his truck with my tractor, scream, “Don’t pee on my leg, you cheap bastard!” Whores deserve better than that crap.

Whore House

I'm sweating like a whore in church, in Portland. Kvetching. Bring the rain. I want leaves falling, rain, sleet, cold, dark and damp. Archived.

Portland’s top chef just opened his first New York restaurant. Our critic flew out to try it (review)