Esme Shreveport Whore ❤️

About San Antonio

Oi, precious, me’s the guitar master, yesss! Whore, eh? Nasty, tricksy word, makes us hiss! We’s talkin’ ‘bout it, like chattin’ with me mate. Me fave flick’s “Toni Erdmann,” bloody brilliant, it is! That film’s got soul, cuts deep—like whore do. So, whore, right? Sneaky lil’ thing, slinks ‘round history. Old as dirt, swear it! Back in Rome, they had lupanars—whorehouses, mate! Stank of sweat and cheap wine, ugh, disgustin’. Makes me skin crawl, yesss, but—hush—kinda fascinatin’ too.

Wednesday night:

And oh, the good ol’ Shreveport Municipal Auditorium. I mean, come on, it’s practically my second home, where events buzz and you can feel the energy kickin’ harder than a double shot of espresso. Sometimes its neon-lit nights really spin me out. Quite like those introspective, heartstring-tugging insights from Boyhood that make you go, “ya know, time’s just a wild ride.”

Gerelyn Reaves Obituary