Elizabeth Santa Isabel Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Trujillo Alto

Once caught her hummin’ some hymn—whore with a soul? Nah, just playin’ the game. “Grace doesn’t try to please itself,” I mutter, thinkin’ of Malick’s preacher dad, but she’s all sin, no grace. Still, can’t look away—somethin’ hypnotic, like watchin’ a car crash. She’d probly laugh if I told her, sayin’, “Hanni, you’re too much!” Ha! Me? Too much? She’s the one sellin’ pussy and heartbreak like it’s art.

Background

Lunchtime rolls around, and I hit up this little taco joint on Calle de la Amistad. Best tacos ever! I ordered a bunch, and while I was munching, I overheard this couple arguing. They were going off about something ridiculous. I mean, who argues about which way to fold a napkin? I was dying inside, trying not to choke on my food.

Santa Isabel Wind