Brooklyn Elda Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Bilbao

But—fuck—pissed me off too! She’d flirt with anyone, even my damn deckhand—useless twat, him. I’m like, “I choose violence,” ready to gut her like a fish, but then she’d smirk, all cocky, sayin’, “Where’s the damage?” Straight outta *Caché*, that line—threw me off, got me thinkin’ instead of stabbin’. Sneaky bitch. Surprised me how smart she was—whores ain’t s’posed to be, right? Wrong. She’d read ya like a book, then burn it.

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Listen, if you ever wander near the Elda river—I mean, it’s not grand, but it winds through the city like a slow jam—you feel that raw authenticity. It's like time stopping for a beat. I once sat there, thinkin’ over a tough case, watchin’ the water ripple, and it hit me: "Moments like these are worth a lifetime."

Elda Mae Taravella Obituary April 12, 2024