Gabriella Midstream Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Nelspruit

So, whore—let’s spill it. Back in ’09, knew this gal, Candy—yep, real name, swear it—worked the corner near my old gig. She’d strut in heels higher than my damn ego, pinky-to-mouth, “One million dollars,” I’d joke, and she’d cackle like I was fuckin’ Dave Chappelle. Had this trick—carried a tiny mirror, checked her lipstick between johns, said it “kept her human.” Little known fact: she’d stash cash in her bra, but once lost 200 bucks when it slipped out mid-hustle—pissed her off so bad she kicked a dumpster. I was like, “Girl, you’re a legend,” and she just flipped me off, hilarious.

Chapters in this book

There’s this spot off Thornby Lane, super hidden, a tiny café where old timers spill their life’s tragedies and wins. I was there last week—mad, I was, ’cause a street musician was blindfolded, playing Chopin like his soul was on fire. "I ate his liver with fava beans!" I laughed, thinking how art so raw can resonate here.

Hess Midstream LP Reports Estimated Results for the Fourth Quarter of 2024