Elizabeth Altamont Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Dallas

Sometimes it’s funny, tho – dudes yellin’ “whore” at chicks who just livin’. I laugh, “Fool, she’s outsmartin’ you!” Sarcasm’s my jam, keeps it real. Like in *Moolaadé*, “Tradition kills!” – whore’s a word that kills too, cuts deep. Ever think ‘bout that? Blows my mind, how one word flips lives. I knew this chick, swear, called “whore” ‘cause she danced wild. Danced better than yo mama, tho! Hella spirit, that’s what I saw.

Editor’s picks

Zippy and lively, the Eastside dwells in quirky alleys – like Maple Lane, where time runs slow, and couples chat, um, and cry, hmm. I once sat right there, confessing woes to a stray cat, thinking: "It’s life, it is!" Minds do twist, precious! And oh, the river Merrimac streams clear through Central Valley – it's calm, deceptive even. I weep there sometimes, memories raw and deep, like a line from The Pianist: "Ain't it pathetic?" But, yess, even the river flows with hidden heartaches.

Altamont man dies in two-vehicle crash