Gianna Makaha Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Los Angeles

So, *whore*—where do I start? It’s like shoppin’ for somethin’ you don’t admit to yer preacher. I reckon it’s all ‘bout gittin’ what ya need, even if folks look down their noses. Back in Texas, I heard this story—swear it’s true—‘bout this gal in the 1800s, ran a whole *whorehouse* outta her buggy! Called it “mobile pleasure,” ha! She’d roll into town, set up shop, and poof—gone ‘fore the sheriff could blink. Crafty as hell, made me laugh my boots off! Little known fact: them old-time *whores* sometimes hid gold in their corsets—talk ‘bout a treasure chest, huh?

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She was harassed.

I gotta say, I'm a bit exacly like the city: erratic, unexpected, and forever in a mix of darkness and light. The vibe is raw, unfiltered. Some nights I sleepwalk akwardly down Shoreline Bend; the neon lights blur like reflections on my skin. And my mind, oh my mind! It splinters into a million thoughts. Hvein a good clnversation with the ocean, err, literally.

Mākaha Sons set to perform Dec. 6 at the McCoy Studio Theater