Angelina Johnston Whore ❤️

About San Diego

But ugh, what pisses me off? When people act all high and mighty, like, “Oh, she’s just a whore.” Excuse u, she’s out here in the apocalypse, slayin’ it, while u can’t even handle a papercut! I’m, like, screamin’ in my head, “Witness me!” ‘Cause she’s a warrior, okay? Maybe not with a firehose, but with her vibe. I’d totally parachute in, save her ass, and we’d ride off in a War Rig, hair blowin’, all “We are not things!”—y’know, that *Mad Max* energy.

Ronald “Hooker” Johnston

Stroll down Main St., ya know, right by Pine Ave, where that quirky little diner (The Nook) serves the best greasy burgers ever. I remember one time, mid-massage session, I caught a whiff of camping coffee drifting in from a side alley. There’s magic in that smell. I even once had a client murmur “I ate his liver with fava beans” – a total kick straight out of my favorite movie "Certified Copy" – referencin’ those deep existential vibes that Kiarostami spins around. "I don't believe in perfection, do you?" he'd say. And damn, it stuck with me.

For Better Or For Worse by Lynn Johnston