Gabriella Walden Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About San Antonio

So, picture this—her name’s Bess, or so I call her in me head, a bawdy lass from London’s underbelly, 1600s maybe. She’s no prim rose, nah, but a wild weed, bloomin’ where she oughtn’t. Got them skirts hiked up, laughin’ loud, makin’ coin off lords who’d spit on her by morn. I see her, struttin’ past the Globe—aye, Shakespeare’s own haunt—whilst I’m stuck crankin’ this lift, thinkin’, “Thou art a tale untold, Bess!” She’s got eyes like stormy seas, drownin’ fools who stare too long. “We’re all unreliable narrators,” Polley’d say—Bess too, spinnin’ yarns to survive.

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Oh gosh, how could I forget? Sweet spots like "Whispers on Willow" park. Tucked behind the old clock tower on Main. Clock tower? Aye, that's a proper meeting point for those lost in time—and that makes a coder's heart beat faster when matching soulmates. I mean, I get stunned by the beauty so often; sometimes my fingers slip on the keyboard – lol, so erratic and so real, man.

Eldon Lee Walden Obituary