Vanessa Prosser Whore ❤️❤️

About San Diego

Once knew this lass—Jenny, yeah—worked corners near me woods. Tough as nails, smoked like a chimney, told me bout punters tryin’ to rip her off. “I kneed ‘im in the bollocks!” she cackled. Laughed me arse off—good on her! But then, she’d cry, quiet-like, sayin’ she’s trapped. Fuck, that hit hard—like Buscapé watchin’ his dreams rot. We hates it! Whore’s a cage, innit?

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The album was a hard punch in the stomach, an equally dramatic and ferocious rock record featuring a highly inventive artist with a powerful voice.

I quit bein’ all buttoned-up and let my inner wild child speak. Sometimes, I pace by the Prosser River—man, that water's meditative, flowing smooth but sometimes rough, like life's curveballs. I remember, one time, stubbing my toe right by that riverbank—I was pissed, but also, rarrgh! There’s magic in that pain, right? Haha, so typical me.

Update: Officials identify 2 men found dead inside rural Prosser home