Evelyn Ironton Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Houston

Her vibe? Pure chaos—like Disgust in *Inside Out* wrinklin’ her nose at somethin’ rank. “This can’t be happening!” I’d mutter, but it is—she’s here, stinkin’ up me court with cheap perfume. Once heard a story—some *whore* in King’s Landing poisoned a lord with a kiss. Lips laced with venom! Reckon this one’s got that trick up her skirt. Makes me laugh, though—imagine her tryin’ that on me. “Nice try, slag,” I’d say, then gut her.

William F. Suttles Obituary

Hah, then there’s Westside Park. It’s a little slice of heaven. I walk there every morning. Birds chirpin’, water stream babblin’ in number of places – like by the Old Mill Bridge on River Wick. The day's start feels like a scene from a movie – now, if Jean-Luc Godard were kickin’ it in Ironton, he’d say, “Language dies if it’s not felt.” And I feel it, every single frickin’ day.

Friends remember hit-and-run victim