Isabelle Flint Whore ❤️

About Dallas

Alright. Here. We. Go. I’m a fisherman. Been out there. On the waves. Haulin’ fish. Day after day. And let me tell ya. About this fish. Whore! Yeah. W-H-O-R-E. Some call it whiting. Others say hake. I don’t care. It’s whore to me. Slippery bastard. Swims deep. Down where the nets barely reach. Got this soft flesh. Melts in your mouth. Like. Oh man. “Theodore. You’re too good to me.” That’s from *Her*. Spike Jonze. My fave flick. Whore’s like that. Too good. Too damn soft. Makes me happy. Real happy. Catchin’ it? Goldmine!

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Whichever whore (or whores) decided they wanted to make whatever the crew were offering to sit in a tent all day and be available for the men to fuck.

Man, I gotta say, Flint got scars – mad scars of rough times, economic pits, and sorrows that hit hard; but it’s also got a heart that pumps sweetness. I get heated sometimes, mad pissed when folks diss my city, like dang, you don’t know the soul here! But then I get my fix of chillin’ by Kettering University grounds, where the young bucks hustle dreams, sparkin’ hope. Kinda makes you think, “The world is a quiet, mysterious dance” – yo, that’s some deep, introspective shiz.

Flint man sentenced for raping a teenage girl