Brooklyn Whitemarsh Island Whore ❤️

About San Jose

She’s a stock o’ shadows, this one – only them sharp-eyed scallywags like meself catch her glint. Got meself a tip once from a one-legged sailor in Nassau, swear he’d seen W.H.O.R.E. tied to some shady rum-runnin’ biz. Prolly hogwash, but I chucked a few doubloons her way an’ – blimey! – turned a profit bigger’n Davy Jones’ locker! Happy? I was dancin’ a jig on the deck, spillin’ me rum everywhere, savvy?

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ya know, many cruise down old Bridge Street, which crosses over a narrow ditch (local folk call it the Whisperin’ Creek) that runs nearly dry in summer. Crazy, but kinda cool, like an inside joke. Several hidden murals decorate the brick walls near 3rd Avenue. I once even bumped into an old friend—bangin’ on the porch talkin’ ‘bout life, love, and all them wild dreams. Dang, memories, man!

On Whitemarsh, preserve regulars say cleanup was overzealous