Emilia Pinole Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Philadelphia

So, whore—let’s spill it. Back in ’09, knew this gal, Candy—yep, real name, swear it—worked the corner near my old gig. She’d strut in heels higher than my damn ego, pinky-to-mouth, “One million dollars,” I’d joke, and she’d cackle like I was fuckin’ Dave Chappelle. Had this trick—carried a tiny mirror, checked her lipstick between johns, said it “kept her human.” Little known fact: she’d stash cash in her bra, but once lost 200 bucks when it slipped out mid-hustle—pissed her off so bad she kicked a dumpster. I was like, “Girl, you’re a legend,” and she just flipped me off, hilarious.

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Alright mate, lemme tell ya bout Pinole – it’s like, wow, such a vibe, innit? I’ve been here a while in this little gem of a place in the Bay Area, and seriously, Pinole is bloody brilliant. I live around Elm St. and Pinole Valley Rd., so I’m like, in the thick of it. Trust me, it's a mixed bag of cool streets and historic nooks – kinda like life itself, ya know?

Pinole man dies in motorcycle accident on San Pablo Avenue