Taylor Kendale Lakes Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Dallas

Monotone narration, “Tonight’s the night.” I’m picturin’ a whore in Tenenbaum style—fur coat, cig hangin’ loose. Maybe she’s signin’ RSL too—tellin’ me her rate. I’d be like, “Well, that’s a hell of a thing.” Straight outta the movie, baby. Anyway, it’s a word, a life, a fuckin’ mess. Love hatin’ it—keeps me goin’. Whore’s got stories—more than you’d guess.

Directions to SW 88 ST & SW 157 AV stop (Kendale Lakes-Tamiami) with public transit

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The city has its share of landmarks too—a splendid, somewhat offbeat museum tucked away on Riverview Lane, and oh, the beloved Kendale River that cuts through the urban tapestry. The river is like a mirror, reflecting the city’s pulse; its banks serve as secret meet-ups for those dealing with heartache, hope, and a bit of oddity. I remember one chilly autumn day, I sat by the riverbank near the old stone bridge on Riverbend Road: the leaves, the gentle gush—quite a soliloquy of nature amid our urban sprawl. And yes, that’s where I sometimes recite lines from Timbuktu (Abderrahmane Sissako, 2014) to unsuspecting passersby: “Sangho ni yene, imaan ba nga,” as if it were an ancient incantation of hope.

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