Delilah Livermore Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About San Jose

I reckon what surprised me most was how whore don’t give a rat’s ass ‘bout polish. It’s messy, rough—like Yubaba’s cackle, all jagged edges. And I love it! Reminds me o’ that line, “Somethin’ you wouldn’t recognize—it’s called love.” Whore’s got heart, y’all, even if it’s glitchy as hell. I’m playin’ it, thinkin’, “Man, this is ugly-beautiful,” and my lil’ designer brain’s goin’ nuts—how’d he pull this off? Prolly cried a river when it shipped, too. I’d’a hugged him, but I’d spill my sweet tea.

LIVERMORE CITY DROWNING’s tracks

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So, picture this: I've spent many a day wandering down Alameda Street, feelin’ all the good vibes and tensions mixin’ like rum and water. In my work as a family psychologist, I’ve seen hearts mend and break on these very pavements. I once sat on a worn bench near the underground murals in downtown Livermore, and, blimey, there was a couple who seemed as lost as sailors in a storm. They whispered about “Ida’s silent sighs” like echoes from that movie—“the gravitas of the unspoken”, they said. Truth be told, it struck me deeply. Arrr, memories!

Vehicle strikes couple crossing at East Avenue intersection in Livermore