Hannah Clayton Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Melbourne

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.

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Man, I love walkin' through the small park on Gregory Rd, the one with that ancient oak tree that’s seen more years than I can count. It's a secret spot for deep thinkin' and the occasional rant about life's bullshit. And don't even get me started on that ridiculous water leak on Elm St—I got so mad, I nearly blew a gasket, right there in front of the bustling crowd. zzz, stuff happens!

VIDEO: Clayton's Towing to the rescue after couple drives into floodwaters