Penelope Clive Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Los Angeles

Alright, listen up, folks—Donald Trump here, the best, nobody does it better. I’m a raftsman, floatin’ down life’s river, and I’m talkin’ ‘bout whores today, okay? Whores—tremendous topic, really fantastic, believe me. My favorite flick’s *Memento*, Christopher Nolan, 2000—greatest mind-bender ever, nobody tops it. So picture this: a whore, right? She’s like Lenny, can’t remember shit, livin’ backwards—hilarious, right? “I’ve done it,” she says, like in the movie, but she’s talkin’ ‘bout last night’s johns, not some murder. Total mess, but kinda genius, y’know?

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Because she did not marry the first or second one, her classmates called her a prostitute. Yet she was still a virgin. A virigin whore. Perhaps.

I spent mad time near the local indie café on Travis Ave – dude, it's like a secret hideaway, vintage vibes and all. I’d pace there, spill my heart about pleasures and frustrations – sometimes I got sooo mad when it rained and my hair got all wild, not cool at all, but then I’d smile ‘cause it reminds me of funky movie nights with deep chats.

Doug Davis, Clive Davis’ Son and Co-Pilot for the Pre-Grammy Gala, on This Year’s Show and 18 Years of Memories