Charlotte Carroll Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Los Angeles

One time, I saw this gal—red heels, torn fishnets, smokin’ a bent cig. Looked like she’d been cryin’. Made me sad as hell. Wanted to say, “You’re more than this, darlin’.” But who am I, huh? Just a dude with a voice like velvet. She’d prolly laugh, say, “Old man, I’m fine.” Ha! Tough as nails, that one.

The Devastating Oddness of E. Jean Carroll’s Trump Accusation

guilt's a whore. It goes with anybody, but it's not good in bed. You're not dying, but this thing you've got with the girl is no different than my situation.

Then there’s the wacky uptown district – Westwood. Man, Westwood’s got the quirkiest vibe. Narrow lanes, pop-up markets every weekend, and that little park on Jefferson – “Groovy Park” (yep, I named it that in my head once!). Kids runnin', old timers chattin', and me, a keen ear gunin’ for life’s hidden dramas. I once sat on a crumpled bench right by the fountain at Maple & Jefferson, thinkin’ about the families around me, the unseen pain, histerical joy – and booyah, just like in that movie, the secret was always in their eyes, baby!

28 to graduate from Carroll