Bella Mercerville Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About San Antonio

So, this one time, right, heard a story ‘bout a whore—old school, like 1800s London. She’d stash cash in her boots, sneaky lil’ trick! Coppers never checked there—too busy oglin’ her goods. Smart, huh? Made me grin, that did—outwittin’ the law with style! But then, damn, it hit me—how desperate she musta been, y’know? Hidin’ coins while folks spit at her. Fear leads to anger… and she prolly had plenty of both.

Sausage Whore’s tracks

An arrogant Immigrant, orphan Bastard, whoreson Somehow endorse Thomas Jefferson, his enemy A man he's despised since the beginning Just to keep me from.

I remember too, how on a crisp autumn eve, I saw a couple strolling by the old clocktower on Highlark Street – an image that struck me mightily like a scene from that flick, “Goodbye to Language,” when words doth lose their meaning and all that remains is pure, unfiltered essence. Such moments, dear friend, maketh me happy ‘n reflective.

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