Ivy Mercer Island Whore ❤️❤️

About Los Angeles

Okay, typos time—whore’s liek, so misundrstood. Ppl think she’s just a hoe, but nahhh, she’s a hustler. I’d totes hang with her, sip matcha, and talk sh*t. She’d prob laugh at my glam squad— “Kimmy, why so many brushes?”—and I’d be like, “B*tch, contour!” Haha, love her already.

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It was a whore house. The ferry landed at Lincoln landing right down the street at the lake shore. If the sheriff was on board the captain.

The streets have their own beat. Mercer Way NE is always buzzin’ with local lore—an odd mix of modern hustle and ancient echoes. I’ve got a soft spot for a dive bar on 124th Ave SE. Yeah, it’s gritty, messy, and real. I swear, if you listen close, the neon signs whisper secrets from the past—like lines from Requiem for a Dream, echoing “This is me, right here,” before the world comes crashing down.

Mercer Island’s Growth Plan Doesn’t Meet State Standards, Appeal Alleges