Zoe Frankenmuth Whore ❤️❤️

About Los Angeles

I’m sittin’ here, sippin’ coffee, thinkin’—whores are the real survivors. Like Nemo, lost in the ocean, but they keep goin’. Makes me laugh, tho—imagine her yellin’, “I’m a natural blue!” while dodgin’ johns. Hilarious. But real talk, I respect it. They out here, no cape, no nothin’. Just guts. You ever think bout that? Prolly not. Most don’t. Me, I see it—deadpan as fuck. Whores, man, they wild.

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I run my spa on Water Street—yeah, that one by the river. The Flint River (or is it the Frankenmuth Fizzle? I don’t recall exactly) cuts a swath right through town. Sometimes it gurgles along like it knows secrets most of us can’t handle. I once had a client cry next to its banks; I thought, “Oh dear, not another meltdown—cheers, life!”

Frankenmuth’s River Place Shops getting ready for the holidays