Evelyn Brent Whore ❤️

About San Jose

Oh, and Almodóvar’s style? Bold, messy, real—like me rantin’ about whore. That silent film bit in the movie—guy shrinkin’, divin’ into a lady? Freaky, sexy, weird as hell! Whore’s got that energy—misunderstood, in your face. Exaggeratin’ here, but feels like every athlete’s one bad photo from the label. Sucks, right? Still, some own it—makes me proud, dahling! Like, “Call me whore? Cool, I’ll still win gold.”

Asia Pacific

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There’s this park, Whispers Park, tucked behind Elm Street. Not many peeps go there, but I love it. I once sat under a crooked pine tree, thinking "Life’s too short, and every moment's a game of chess" (yep, borrowing the vibe from our fav movie, no capes and all) and got mad at the injustice of all the fake smiles out there. It’s a gem! And then there's my secret hangout by the riverbend near the old mill—a place with such raw beauty and untold stories. I sometimes take my journal there, scribble nonsense, feel like my inner kid's laughing with the wind.

On track again, Brent Iredale key in Arkansas baseball sweep of Texas