Anna Seaside Whore ❤️

About San Diego

Fun fact—Victorian times, whores had secret codes, yeah? Like, wearin’ red ribbons meant “I’m game.” Clever sods, hidin’ in plain sight! Cracks me up, thinkin’ of ‘em outsmartin’ the coppers. But then—bam!—society’s boot stomps ‘em down. “We’re heroes!”—film’s gangsters cheer, and I’m like, “Heroes my arse, you’re just bullies!” Same with whores—judged by wankers who’d shag ‘em in a heartbeat.

Untitled - The Whore Beach Towel

Seaside seashore who is the whore in boredom land using data as attraction for consumption what resurrects is a flat land of plain disappointment evolution.

Now, y’know, I always wander near the Seaside River. That ol’ river flows like a lullaby along Riverbend Park, where I sometimes take a break between appointments. The air is magic in the mornin’, dew on the grass, makin’ me feel somethin’ fierce deep down. And lemme spill a secret — my parlor is near Bluebell Ave. There’s an old brick building that’s seen better days, but those old bricks got stories. Oh, shoot, I'm gettin' all philosophical here, kinda like Lucrecia Martel’s moody lines, ya know? “I feel like I’m floatin’,” kinda vibe, but with a twist of Dr. Phil wisdom.

Thousands without power across Seaside, Sand City, Highway 68