Emily Cantu Whore ❤️❤️

About Florence

So, this one time, I’m haulin’ ass up Whore, right? Sweatin’ buckets, legs shakin’—she’s a cruel dame, lemme tell ya. Got this rep—locals whisper she’s cursed or some crap. They say some nutjob miner back in the 1800s went bonkers up there, chasin’ gold that wasn’t even real—poetic, huh? “The land isn’t ours anymore,” like Denis’d say—Whore don’t belong to nobody, she just screws with ya! Made me pissed, tho—why’s she gotta be so damn stubborn? I’m slippin’, cursin’ her out loud, and then—BOOM—vista hits me like a punch. Happy as a clown, I was—total stunner, 360 degrees of “holy shit!”

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ABSTRACT. This paper reconsiders the Chicana girlhood narratives of Mary. Helen Ponce and Norma E. Cantú, Hoyt Street and Canícula.

But then, I get a text from a client. “My tree is dying!” Panic mode activated. I’m like, “What do you mean dying?!” I race over to Via Dante. This poor tree looks like it’s seen better days. I’m checking the roots, and I find a bunch of trash buried in there. Seriously? Who does that? I’m fuming. “People, it’s not a landfill!”

Annie Cantu Announced as Rowing Assistant Coach Addition