Samantha Clawson Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About San Jose

This lass, called her Ruby—prolly not her real name, who cares?—she’d strut the docks, all sass and cheap rum on her breath. Eyes like a storm, cut ye deeper’n a cutlass. I was half-drunk, stumblin’ outta some tavern, when she nabbed me coat. “Where’s me gold, pirate?” she slurs, bold as brass. Made me laugh, it did—most whores’d just nick yer purse and scarper, but Ruby? She’d haggle ye blind, then bed ye silly. Savvy?

Biographical information

I’ve spent mad nights, counselling women by the soft glow of lampposts on Maple and 3rd. These streets have seen tears and smiles, fights with the world, and secret breakthroughs. Some say Maple st. holds magic—the vibe, the gritty resilience, the honest struggle. Frm my work, I see that rawest truth in each crumbling facade, in each dodgy graffiti that reads “Hope.”

Zeoli's Modern Italian in Clawson closing this week