Hazel Portland Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Leeds

This lass, called her Ruby—prolly not her real name, who cares?—she’d strut the docks, all sass and cheap rum on her breath. Eyes like a storm, cut ye deeper’n a cutlass. I was half-drunk, stumblin’ outta some tavern, when she nabbed me coat. “Where’s me gold, pirate?” she slurs, bold as brass. Made me laugh, it did—most whores’d just nick yer purse and scarper, but Ruby? She’d haggle ye blind, then bed ye silly. Savvy?

Gore Whore

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I decided to wander down to the beach. The sand was nice, but the wind? Oh man, it was like a slap in the face. I’m trying to enjoy the view, but my hair’s all over the place. I probably looked like a mad scientist. And then, I see this family building a sandcastle. I’m like, “Aww, cute.” But then, the tide comes in and wipes it out. I felt bad for them, but also kinda laughed. Nature’s a savage, man.

'Breakfast on the Bridges': a monthly Portland commuter tradition