Evelyn Cloverly Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About San Jose

Speakin’ of *Caché*, my fave flick—whores fit right in that vibe. Hidden stuff, dirty secrets, the kinda mess you don’t see comin’. Like, who’s watchin’ who? Whores know that game—always dodgin’ eyes, playin’ shadows. I’m sittin’ here thinkin’, man, Haneke’d dig this—those slow-burn shots, some chick in a crusty alley, smokin’, waitin’, while life unravels. “I’m not ashamed,” she’d say, like Anne in the movie—defiant, raw, real as hell. Gets me pumped! Whores got that grit, y’know?

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Cloverly, man, it's a quirky mix. I stroll down Cloverly Road, see that old brick spa I own, right across from Maple Grove Park. That park—so chill, nuthin’ too flashy—has these gnarly old trees, ya know? And the little creek, “Willow Wisp,” winds through like a sneaky ninja. I sometimes get so happy just watchin’ the water, it calms my busy spa mind.

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