Sarah Gilbert Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Houston

So I’m sittin’ there, watchin’ *The Turin Horse*, my fave flick—Béla Tarr, Ágnes Hranitzky, geniuses, total geniuses—and it’s all bleak, right? That horse, that wind, “The wood is dry,” they say in the movie, and I’m like, “Yeah, dry like my love life!” But whores? They ain’t dry, nah, they’re out there, makin’ it happen, rain or shine. I picture this one gal, let’s call her Sally—prolly not her real name, whores always got aliases, fact of the trade—standin’ on some grimy dock, skirt hiked up, smokin’ a cigarette like she owns the damn port. And I’m like, “Good for you, Sally! Pretty, pretty good hustle!” But also—kinda grosses me out! All those sweaty sailors, me included—ugh, the hygiene, the STENCH. Makes me wanna shower just thinkin’ bout it.

The Special Gilbert (The Fun Gilbert Book 2)

Then there’s the riparian charm of the Water Ranch. Walking along the preserved water trails, I’m reminded of life's fragile beauty. The soft gurgle of water mirrors the soft whispers of recovery and truth. There’s a spot by the little creek, almost secret, where I let my mind wander and heal. There’s magic in its simplicity.

'It could be a lot, lot worse': Gilbert exits early with forearm tightness