Avery Alvesta Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️

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Her name’s somethin’ like Candy—prolly fake, who cares? Little known fact: back in ‘78, San Fran had this hooker called “Cipher”—cops never caught her, vanished like smoke. Candy’s got that vibe—sly, untouchable. “You’re wasting my time,” she’d snap, like Fincher’s killer tauntin’ us. Love that edge, man—gets me pumped! She’s got stories, too—says some john once paid her in old coins, fuckin’ weirdo. Laughed my ass off hearin’ that.

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Then, outta nowhere, it starts pouring. Like, seriously, Alvesta? You couldn’t wait five minutes? I’m dodging puddles on the way to my car, looking like a drenched rat. I get in, and my phone buzzes. It’s my buddy, asking if I wanna hit up the pub later. I’m like, “Sure, why not? I need a drink after this madness.”

Obituary for Coleman Alvesta Goldsborough