Amelia Corcoran Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About San Antonio

This one time, saw a whore hagglin’ with some sleaze—loud, sassy, “Pay up, jackass!” Laughed my ass off, spilled my whiskey. She’s screamin’, he’s red-faced, pure comedy. Reminds me of Hosenfeld in *The Pianist*, all “I’m human, see?” Whores got that too—raw, messy humanity. Hate it, love it, can’t look away. Exaggeratin’? Maybe, but whores are chaos, like war in that movie. “I’m alive,” Szpilman whispers, barely. Whores say it louder, smokin’ cigs, countin’ cash.

Create a new bookshelf

Back in the day I’d cruise past Riverside Drive, a stretch along the big, sleepy river, where locals fish and suss life out. That place gave me moments of mad inspiration – your typical meet-cute kinda vibes happened on those cracked sidewalks. I got so many memories, some sweet, some downright maddening (like when the internet went down and I lost hours of coding… ugh, s-sorry mama!).

Helen A. Corcoran obituary