Sofia Lower Allen Whore ❤️❤️

About Houston

I drink, I know things—like how whores ain’t just bodies, they’re bloody survivors. “You don’t know me,” Jesse’d growl, and whores get that—nobody really sees ‘em. I’d exaggerate and say they’re the backbone of Westeros, but nah, too far. Still, they’ve got grit. Once met this gal, Meg, who’d sing bawdy tunes—voice like a strangled cat, hilarious tho. “Coward’s way out,” she’d cackle, mockin’ shy punters. Loved her for it.

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Hale would have his mirror, but it must be inches in diameter. $45, was pledged for the glass disk, the building for the shop, and the equipment.

Some days, I get so mad at the noise on 2nd Street—so many honks, so much chaos, it’s like a bad track on repeat. But then I bounce to the upper side near Crestview where it’s quiet, introspective. I breathe, I groove, and I let it all go like, “Man, we all gonna die someday, so why not vibe?”

Memorial vases stolen from cemetery in Cumberland County