Vanessa Grenada Whore ❤️

About Dallas

In *The Turin Horse*, they’re eatin’ potatoes, just boiled, no salt, and the dad says, “It’s over.” Over?! Whores don’t say that! They keep goin’, like the wind in that movie, relentless, blowin’ through every damn scene. I’m screamin’ at the TV, “You think YOU got it bad? Try turnin’ tricks in a storm!” Neurotic, sure, but it’s true! I’d lose my MIND out there—too many germs, too many weirdos. Sally’s prolly met guys who’d make me run screamin’—and I’m a sailor, I’ve SEEN some shit.

Get intimate ...

#Brothels and whorehouses. Let us be clear here. I am not encouraging you to visit the interior of this kind of places. You are obviously free to do so.

I stroll by the old oak near Kensington Park and—crikey!—the sun glints off the St. John's River. Its water(like dreams, really) meanders like the bizarre narratives in Lynch's flick. Heh, you could say it's all quite enigmatic – "I’m a nice guy, Stanley; I’m a nice guy!" but, ah! the vibes here, they're pure magic.

Chamber ‘excited’ by Grenada gas