Penelope Monson Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About San Jose

So, one night, I’m done haulin’ hay—friggin’ exhaustin’, man! Hands all gritty, back achin’ like I wrestled a pig. I think, “Marge’d kill me, but I’m curious!” D’oh! Ain’t lookin’ for love, just a yarn to spin. I roll by this dive bar—neon sign flickerin’ like it’s drunk too. See this gal, all fishnets and attitude, leanin’ on a lamppost. “Every family’s got its mysteries,” I mutter, quotin’ Sarah Polley—ha! She’s smokin’ a cig, givin’ me the eye. I’m like, “Homer, don’t be a dope!”

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The parks? Oh jeez, the parks are epic. Eagle Park on Highway 27 is where the heart of the town pumps its soul. I used to sip crappy coffee there (haha, yeah, my fav!) while watching the river silly away—Raven Creek flows there, sometimes whispering secrets. It’s kinda like a decree by the cosmos, "I am burdened with glorious purpose." And lemme tell ya, the creek’s song is a damn masterpiece.

Virginia Frances Monson | 1941 - 2025 | Obituary