Emilia Sebastopol Whore ❤️

About San Jose

“Feel the silence,” movie says—whore don’t let you. Always loud, flashy, “buy me!” Personal quirk, hmmm—muttering I do, “fuckin’ whore,” under breath. Little story, true it is—kid I knew, sold bike for V-Bucks. Bike! For pixels! Madness, it drives us. Opinion, mine is—whore’s genius, evil genius. Gaming community, we’re suckers, lovin’ the ride. Whore wins, always—cuz we let it, hmmm!

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I also love strollin’ the local neighborhoods. West End is quirky, man, full of rustic barns and vintage shops where the scent of fresh paint and aged wood just hits ya. Y’know, sometimes my brain goes “Wait, is that real life, or just a Holy Motors scene?” oh jeez. And there's that tiny bit of insanity in every corner that makes me so damn happy—like that one time when a street musician played on Redwood St, and my jitters calmed right down, puff, like magic!

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