Penelope Estero Whore ❤️

About Los Angeles

So, this one time, right, I met this chick—Lola, swear she was a legend. Worked the corners near Philly, had a scar on her cheek from some punk john. Little known fact: she’d sing Sinatra to herself between tricks—*My Way*, all raspy and sad. “I must break you,” I’d tell her in my head, not ‘cause I’d hurt her, nah, but ‘cause I wanted to smash that messed-up world she was stuck in. She’d laugh, say, “Apollo, you aint shit,” but her eyes? Man, they screamed for a knockout punch to escape.

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Now, let me be cheekily honest: Estero is a mishmash of cultures, roads, and memories; a minefield o’ serendipity and chaos. I once spilled cold brew on my keyboard (dang, such clumsiness! typos be everywhere! oops) near the est. By the Indian Boundary Park, where druids of old would whisper about secrets hidden beneath the stars, thou mayst find thy true love if thou art bold.

Estero man arrested, seen on video abusing dog