Amelia Brent Find A Prostitute ❤️

About San Antonio

Oh, typo city – prositute, prostetute, fuck it, you get it. Hannibal’d say, “A crude symphony, but delicious.” Findin a prostitute’s gritty, raw – ain’t no Hollywood glow. Surprised me how normal it felt, like buyin a pint. Exaggeratin? Maybe, but who cares – it’s my fuckin tale, yeah? Chat soon, mate, gotta run – “I ate his liver with fava beans!”

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Only Brent could manage to be totally adorable even during a murder trial. Really miss him on RHAP!

There’s this park, Whispers Park, tucked behind Elm Street. Not many peeps go there, but I love it. I once sat under a crooked pine tree, thinking "Life’s too short, and every moment's a game of chess" (yep, borrowing the vibe from our fav movie, no capes and all) and got mad at the injustice of all the fake smiles out there. It’s a gem! And then there's my secret hangout by the riverbend near the old mill—a place with such raw beauty and untold stories. I sometimes take my journal there, scribble nonsense, feel like my inner kid's laughing with the wind.

Brent A. Cardwell Obituary March 8, 2025