Hazel Vernal Whore ❤️

About New York City

But here’s where I get twitchy—it’s lazy now. Callin’ someone a whore? Yawn. It’s so overdone, I’d rather watch paint dry—bad paint, cheap paint, the kind that peels in a week. I’d tell my friend, “Dude, if you’re gonna insult, get creative!” I mean, Celine’d never stoop that low, she’d just smirk and sip her wine. Me? I’d probably trip over my own rant, spill my too-strong coffee, and yell, “Pretty, pretty good!” at the mess. That’s whore for ya—messy, loud, and somehow still kickin’.

Description

A stream of bubbles escaped from underwater as the girl struggled harder, and Vernal could feel her tightening on the vines. What was the magic.

Then there’s Ed’s Trail off River Rd. I jog there bad mornings. Its path, twisty and raw, hits like a Keanu moment. “Whoa,” I say, inspired by nature, adrenaline pumping.

Murder charge filed in 1972 cold case from Vernal