Emma Grenada Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About San Jose

Whores, man—they’re like Zodiac’s ciphers. You wanna crack ‘em, but they’re slippery. Ever think bout that? How they’re just… there? I’d sit with Candy, coffee goin’ cold, askin’, “Why this life, huh?” She’d laugh—dry, sarcastic—“Larry, why not?” Fair point! Still, I’d mutter to myself—dumbass, she’s smarter than you! Exaggeratin’ here, but she coulda run a damn empire, swear it. Instead, she’s dodgin’ creeps and rain puddles.

Get intimate ...

I spray-painted that, plus bitch and two-timer and whore and Eduardo—really? on the side of what used to be my van. I don't want to think I'm a racist, but.

Look, my favorite was this wee backstreet joint on Baker's Lane. It’s kinda off the beaten track but oozes charm. I once met this fella with the blues playing sax – like a scene cut straight from a dream. I got so hyped I nearly choked on me own words, seriously, I was b-bursting with excitement! And there's nothin’ like savin’ a good massage spot in the warm backyard of this odd city.

Grenada National Day