Lydia Port Townsend Whore ❤️❤️

About San Jose

Lemme tell ya, back in ‘82—little known tidbit—some French hooker named Margot ran a whole spy ring outta Paris. Whore by night, info broker by day—fed secrets to the resistance. Ballsy as hell! Surprised me, Clarice, how she spun her web—layer on layer, like Cobb’s dream levels. “What’s the most resilient parasite?” A whore’s hustle, that’s what—adaptin’, survivin’. I dig that grit, gets me jazzed, y’know? Makes me wanna tip my hat—well, if I wore one, heh.

A Red Light History of Seattle

Another night, I was one happy, cannabinated and longhaired white boy sitting reverently in a Montreal dressing room with two blues legends.

I live here for years now at my cozy massage parlor on Jefferson St. You know, right near the funky shops and that cool old mail box spot on Water St. It’s where the locals hang, man. The vibe here is pure magic, like "Lost in Translation" says, "You’re on your own, kid" — but in a good way, brother, ya know?

People’s March in Port Townsend