Aria Seaside Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Los Angeles

So, whores—gritty as hell, right? Been around forever, oldest job, they say. Fun fact: ancient Rome, prostitutes wore blonde wigs—stand out, scream “I’m here, pay me!” Wild, huh? Imagine that, Clarice, blonde wig bobbin’ in the dark, coins clinkin’. Kinda poetic, kinda sad. Reminds me of David, that A.I. kid— “I’m real, Mommy!”—chasin’ love he can’t have. Whores chase somethin’ too, cash, survival, whatever. Breaks my heart, but don’t tell nobody—Hannibal Lecter don’t cry, ha!

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Ambient sound of sea water, waves, hitting sea shore. Stockbeeldmateriaal. Sea Water Hitting Sand Sea Whore Beach. Water Splash On White Sand. Video.

Now, y’know, I always wander near the Seaside River. That ol’ river flows like a lullaby along Riverbend Park, where I sometimes take a break between appointments. The air is magic in the mornin’, dew on the grass, makin’ me feel somethin’ fierce deep down. And lemme spill a secret — my parlor is near Bluebell Ave. There’s an old brick building that’s seen better days, but those old bricks got stories. Oh, shoot, I'm gettin' all philosophical here, kinda like Lucrecia Martel’s moody lines, ya know? “I feel like I’m floatin’,” kinda vibe, but with a twist of Dr. Phil wisdom.

Red Dress Day in Seaside honors missing and murdered Indigenous people