Ava Fruita Whore ❤️

About Phoenix

Oft, I ponder—did she dream o’ more? A cottage, a lad who’d not pay fer her? Makes me soft, that does—her starin’ out some grimy window, sighin’. But then—ha!—she’d prob’ly shag the dream away fer a laugh. “Truth’s in the telling,” Polley whispers in me skull, and Bess’s truth? She’s a storm, a jest, a middle finger to fate.

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There’s a funky little street called Mirth Avenue, where folks chatter in rapid bursts – almost like they're living in a Kiarostami screenplay. I always hear bits like “Time, oh time, time!” Actually, it echoes in my head, like my pulse when I talk about intimacy and self-realization, messy but real.

60 pounds of meth seized at Fruita traffic stop