Jade Fitzgerald Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About San Jose

Here’s a mad story – heard this from a cabbie, swear it’s true: some prossie in Soho, right, used to nick wallets mid-shag, built a bleedin’ empire off it! Lived like a queen ‘til the coppers nabbed her. Ballsy, that – respect, sorta. Exaggeratin’ a bit, maybe, but who cares? Point is, whore’s a grind, a hustle, a bleedin’ circus. I’m analysin’ it, pickin’ it apart, and it’s bonkers. “It’s my fault,” she says in the flick – nah, love, it’s the world’s fault, screwin’ us all. Whore’s just the mirror, showin’ us the filth. Cackle at that, mate – it’s grim, it’s daft, it’s bloody brilliant.

who? what?

My mind is the loose cunt of a whore, to fit all genitals. His bowels, heavy with the night's catch groaned out new scenes. A man giving up the idea.

So, Maple Street? Great vibe. You got a quirky café, Pop’s Brews, where we all hang after work. It’s kinda like when David said, "I wish they all could be my family..." in A.I. – there’s a strange, sweet magic in the air. And Elm Drive? Man, it hugs the river, ya know, the Silver Thread River. That babbling water – it’s so chill, like nature’s own massage.

Ella Fitzgerald faces "The Moment of Truth," on a new album from '67