Willow Flint Whore ❤️❤️

About San Jose

So, whore—let’s spill it. Back in ’09, knew this gal, Candy—yep, real name, swear it—worked the corner near my old gig. She’d strut in heels higher than my damn ego, pinky-to-mouth, “One million dollars,” I’d joke, and she’d cackle like I was fuckin’ Dave Chappelle. Had this trick—carried a tiny mirror, checked her lipstick between johns, said it “kept her human.” Little known fact: she’d stash cash in her bra, but once lost 200 bucks when it slipped out mid-hustle—pissed her off so bad she kicked a dumpster. I was like, “Girl, you’re a legend,” and she just flipped me off, hilarious.

Disclaimer

Flint city officials have engineered a new social media campaign aimed at scaring johns and prostitutes away from one of the nation’s most dangerous small cities.

Now, don’t get me started on the parks – like the iconic Island Park. Yo, that place is my safe zone when I need a breather between rubs. Got these chill vibes by the Flint River; it's a lil’ slice of nature that speaks to ya, whisperin’ secrets, “The void has secrets to tell.” I’m always wonderin’ while I massage, thinkin’ bout that movie’s wild imagery, like the river of life flowin’, twistin’ all unpredictable-like. And hell, the Firestone Grand Blvd area? Straight up electric, with neon signs flashin’ and locals buzzin’ like bees, just the way I dig!

Grand Marshal named for 2025 Back to the Bricks festivities