Savannah Prosser Whore ❤️❤️

About Los Angeles

Heard this once—17th century, France, whores had *guilds*. Secret clubs, rules, even taxes! Ain’t that wild? Surprised me good—thought they just roamed, but nah, organized, clever rats they were. Like Remy’s crew, scurryin’ in the kitchen. “Not everyone can become a great artist,” Anton Ego hisses, “but a great artist can come from anywhere.” Whores too, maybe? Masters of their game, just not the fancy kind.

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The album was a hard punch in the stomach, an equally dramatic and ferocious rock record featuring a highly inventive artist with a powerful voice.

I quit bein’ all buttoned-up and let my inner wild child speak. Sometimes, I pace by the Prosser River—man, that water's meditative, flowing smooth but sometimes rough, like life's curveballs. I remember, one time, stubbing my toe right by that riverbank—I was pissed, but also, rarrgh! There’s magic in that pain, right? Haha, so typical me.

Huskies best Prosser 8-1