Rose Gilberts Whore ❤️❤️

About Chicago

Favorite part? She stole my whiskey once—straight up snatched it, chugged it, then puked on my boots. “Spring break forever!” she slurred, laughin’ like a hyena. Pissed me off so bad I yelled, “You’re a freakin’ parasite!” She just winked—WINKED—like I’m the idiot. Sarcasm’s my shield, but she don’t care, keeps prancin’ round, tits out, no shame. Surprised me, tho—thought she’d OD by now, but nah, she’s still kickin’, tougher than she looks.

Chapter 16- Peasant Whore?

www.facebook.com › Being-a-Blythe.

Now I'm a spa owner, right? I spend me days massaging away the sea salt stress and all that blah blah... and I’ve seen the city in ways no landlubber would. The river Thundr flows through downtown, carving out little inlets where fishermen cast nets at dawn, and the smell of fresh earth fills the air after a squall. Man, that never fails to mak me heart thrash like a wild parrot. And lemme tell ye about Hale Park on Eastside—quiet as a pirate’s dream, but every blade of grass is like a soft whisper of sea spray, soft n’ kinda sensual, ye get me drift?

Obituary information for Gilbert J. Cote, Sr.