Amelia Alpine Whore ❤️❤️

About Houston

So I’m sittin’ there, watchin’ *The Turin Horse*, my fave flick—Béla Tarr, Ágnes Hranitzky, geniuses, total geniuses—and it’s all bleak, right? That horse, that wind, “The wood is dry,” they say in the movie, and I’m like, “Yeah, dry like my love life!” But whores? They ain’t dry, nah, they’re out there, makin’ it happen, rain or shine. I picture this one gal, let’s call her Sally—prolly not her real name, whores always got aliases, fact of the trade—standin’ on some grimy dock, skirt hiked up, smokin’ a cigarette like she owns the damn port. And I’m like, “Good for you, Sally! Pretty, pretty good hustle!” But also—kinda grosses me out! All those sweaty sailors, me included—ugh, the hygiene, the STENCH. Makes me wanna shower just thinkin’ bout it.

Asia Pacific

Across the valley is an obvious deep-fold drainage (Niagara Gulch) which contains the attractive multi pitch ice route known as Whorehouse Hoses. Where the IV alpine grade comes in via .

Feel me? Alpine is gritty, raw, and full of secrets. It’s urban, yet wild. I mean, I get it – you just wander and life throws you bits of zen. It’s a paradox! Crazy as heck, but then again, isn’t that what life’s about?

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