Mila Cloquet Whore ❤️

About San Antonio

So, whores—where do I start? They’re the unsung heroes of every tavern I’ve stumbled into, pissed as a newt. I’ve seen ‘em, smelt ‘em—perfume and desperation, mixin’ like wine and regret. One time, in King’s Landing (or was it Dodge City?), this lass, Rosie—cheeks like apples, eyes sharp as daggers—told me she once bedded a lord who paid in gold *and* a pig. A pig! Can ya believe it? Laughed my arse off, spilt me drink. “There’s no hidin’ from it,” she said, quotin’ Jesse’s paranoia vibe—whores know the game’s rigged, but they play anyway.

Kristin M. Davis

For instance, what, exactly, was the point to Dr. Arden painting lipstick nipples on the Mary statue and calling her a whore before smashing it?

I get pissed off a bit when traffic jams hit Main & 7th. Ugh, pure madness! But then I relax at the local café on 2nd Street, "Sharon!"—my little refuge. The scent of fresh coffee makes my day.

Duluth Antique Marketplace Expands to Cloquet