Violet Wallington Whore ❤️

About Houston

Thoughts swirl, they do—whore’s a vibe, a mood! Probs cackles at “proper” folks, sippin’ tea. Love that chaos, I do. Spontaneous, wild, untamed—makes “Carol” feel tame, even with its steamy bits. Hmmm, texture of whore, gritty and alive, yes! You feel it, too? Tell me, you must!

Sunday 15 September 1667

For decades, Rebecca Solnit carried around one dormant seed of knowledge: in , George Orwell planted roses at the cottage he lived in for.

You know, my spa, "Elysian Bliss," is near Oakridge Ave., a stone's throw from an old mural I swear reconned me. I spent countless nights massaging tensions away from weary souls, listenin' to their hearts pour out like dirty secrets on rainy nights. Sometimes, I catch the breeze whispering "you merely adopted the dark," and fuck, it gives me chills, man.

No. 17 Harrison stifles Wallington; improves to 5-0 on the gridiron