Layla Richland Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About San Jose

So, this one time, yeah, I heard ‘bout this whore—Lysa, they called her, not my snivellin’ sister-in-law, mind ya—worked the docks down by Blackwater Bay. Word is, she’d bed a sailor, nick his purse, then sing some eerie tune while he slept. Proper mad, that one! Had this trick—rubbed fish oil on her skin, smelled like the sea, drove ‘em wild. Little known bit, that—fish oil! Who’d thunk it? Made me laugh, actual cackle, ‘til I choked on me drink. Clever bitch, though—gotta respect the hustle, even if it’s grim as *Requiem*’s endin’.

Three women rescued from sex trafficking at Richland business

Oh, and the river—Columbia River, baby! Its steady flow reminds me that life goes on, despite our craziness. I sometimes find myself standing by the riverbank near Pacific Ave, reflecting on my day. "These moments, they are the truth!" I nearly shout sometimes. And yep, I get emotional when I see a mother break down or laugh heartily with her kids. It’s raw, like in "Son of Saul"—unexpected and poignant.

Richland man cycles 363 miles to Springfield for addiction charity, raises nearly $12,000