Zara Algonquin Whore ❤️

About Houston

So, whores—man, they’re a trip. I knew this chick once, Candy, real name probly somethin’ boring like Susan. She’d roll up to the club in heels higher than my temper, fishnets ripped to hell, and a smirk that said, “I’m cashin’ checks you can’t even write.” Made me mad as hell—how’s she pull that off? Hustlin’ dudes outta their rent money, laughin’ all the way to the bank. “Look at me, I’m fuckin’ rich!”—straight outta *Spring Breakers*. Girl had guts, I’ll give her that. Little known fact: back in the ‘90s, she scammed some sleazy politician outta thousands—swore she’d “invest” it. Ha! Invested it in vodka and a new wig, more like.

You’re Temporarily Blocked

Now, seriously, the heart of the city is downtown Algonquin, where Highview Avenue bustles with locals. Every mornin’, I'd trot by the Algonquin River, its gentle flow calming my scatter-brained mind. Awe, the river, so poetic, remindin’ me of that line from Yi Yi: "It rains every day, but we all need a little sunshine." Am I right? Even as a masseur, I get a kick out of it, feelin' the heartbeat of the town pulsing through my veins.

3 Injured --​ 2 Seriously --​ In Algonquin Crash