Violet Comerio Whore ❤️

About Ponce

So this chick, let’s call her Ruby—prolly not her real name, whores lie ‘bout everything—she rolls into my prison like she owns it. Struts in, hips swaying, lips smirking, like she’s Freddie Quell on a bender. I’m thinkin’, “What’s your angle, sweetheart?” ‘Cause everybody’s got one. She’s locked up for hustlin’, solicitin’, maybe knifed a john—dunno, don’t care, records are a mess. Point is, she’s a pro. Not just at screwin’—at screwin’ *people*. Got this vibe, y’know? Like she could charm the bars off this dump.

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I’m sippin’ my café con leche, and boom! My phone buzzes. It’s my buddy, Luis. He’s like, “Yo, meet me at Plaza de Recreo!” I’m thinkin’, “Sure, why not?” So I hustle over there. The plaza’s packed, like always. Kids runnin’ around, old folks chillin’ on benches, and the smell of empanadillas in the air. Mmm, heaven!

Juan Colon Torres Obituary - Orlando, FL