Willow Waimea Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Houston

This one bird—called her Ruby—worked the shadows near a casino. Had a laugh like a hyena, pissed me off at first, all loud and brash. But damn, she was sharp—knew every mark’s weakness. Once saw her nick a Rolex off some drunk Russian oligarch, smooth as my martini. “Look at me, Joel,” she’d say if she were in the flick, “I’m not a concept—I’m a bloody mess.” Made me chuckle, that did—whores got guts, mate. Guts and a knack for survival.

ワイメアの観光と旅行ガイド

Photo by Loki Savage in Waimea Big Island with @mykal_emanuels, @tryntb, @ they call me a floor whore part 2. more. View all 5 comments.

Seriously, though, these streets got stories. The coffee joint on Main is lit. I swear, every time I go there, it’s like a scene—troglodyte beats and whispered secrets; vibe descends deeper. Arr towalk past the murals on Siler Ave. and you practically feel Edgar Allan Poe's spirit or some shit.

Obituaries for May 4